Monday, 5/20
Bossa Nova Bradley Brothers (Bossa nova/jazz) - The Little Theater Cafe, 7P (FREE, All ages)
Tuesday 5/21
MC Lars / SchafferThe Darklord / Shubzilla / Bill Beats / MC Snax (rap) Bug Jar, 8P ($15, 18+)
Mama’s Broke (folk) - Abilene, 7:30P ($15, all ages)
Charlie Ballantine (jazz) - Bop Shop Records, 8P ($20, all ages)
Wednesday, 5/22
Cardiel / Clockmen / Mantra (punk/rock) Bug Jar, 8P ($12, 18+)
Alexander / EthanWL / SQ (guitaexperimental) - Abilene, 7P ($10, all ages)
Levi Gangi and Kelly Izzo Shapiro (Americana) - The Little Theater Cafe, 7P (FREE, All ages)
Blu (rock covers) - Record Archive, 6P (FREE, all ages)
Eastman-Rochester New Horizons Symphonic Band Spring Concert - Kodak Hall at Eastman Theatre, 7:30P (FREE, all ages)
Thursday, 5/23
Orodruin / Cardinals Folly / Saints & Winos (metal) Bug Jar, 8P ($15, 18+)
Late Night Trouble / ALYXX / Violet Mary / Lower Expectations / Faith to Fear (rock) - Photo City Music Hall, 6:30P ($15+, 18+)
All Maine Points / Rugrat Rehab / Bugcatcher (acoustic) / Home Videos (indie rock) - The Psychic Garden, 7P ($10-$15 NOTAFLOF, all ages)
Bloodshot Bill (rock) - Skylark, 7P ($5, 21+)
Dark Horse / Bob and Rick and Friends (Americana) - Abilene, 6:30P (all ages)
Big Blue House (folk/rock/jazz) - The Little Theater Cafe, 7P (FREE, All ages)
Terror / Moment of Truth / X-Threat / Old Ghosts (hardcore) - The Club at Water Street, 6P ($20+, 16+)
Glass Cannon / Tsavo Highway - Iron Smoke, 7P ($5, 21+)
The Rochester Metropolitan Jazz Orchestra - Three Heads Brewing, 7P ($10, 21+)
Friday, 5/24
Labretta Suede / The Motel 6 / Perilous (rock n’ roll) - LUX, 10P ($5, 21+)
Muler / Roger Bryan and the Orphans (rock) - Skylark, 9P ($5, 21+)
Order of the Dead / The Devil’s Pension/The Grinders (punk/rock) - Bug Jar, 8P ($10, 18+)
Will Bolinger / Blum / Reilly Biberto / f-f-f-f-faulty tower(experimental) - The Psychic Garden, 8P ($10 NOTAFLOF, all ages)
The Avett Brothers / Sierra Ferrell- CMAC, 7P ($46
Massive Blowout / Scratch n Sniffs / The Sweatshop Boys - Bar Bad Ending, 8P ($10, 21+)
Genre Transcendence / MF Skum / Alex Vine Trio / Jordan Lerner Trio / First Accident (misc) - The Flying Squirrel, 7P ($10, all ages)
Broadway Rave (DJ) - Photo City, 8P ($20+, 18+)
Mr. Heartache (Americana/roots) - Abilene, 5:30P ($5, all ages)
Erin & Ross (jazz) - The Little Theater Cafe, 7P (FREE, All ages)
Prince TeeJay (hiphop) - Water Street, 7P ($15/20, 18+)
Ray LaMontagne Tribute - Three Heads Brewing, 7:30P ($10, 21+)
RAD (blues) - Lovin’ Cup, 7P (FREE, all ages)
Jazz Night at the Academy - Rochester Academy of Medicine, 6P ($30, all ages)
Saturday, 5/25
Hate Unbound / Seplophile / Lord Loss (metal) - Bug Jar, 8P ($10, 18+)
Bobby Henrie & The Goners (rock) - Skylark, 9P ($5, 21+)
Rotten UK / Adixion / DJ Melphire Bat (punk)- Photo City, 7P ($10+, 18+)
Kelley’s Heroes (Bob Dylan tribute) - Abilene, 7:30P ($10, all ages)
Zac Brown Tribute Band / Breakfast Club / Drinking Class Heroes (covers) - Essex, 9P ($20+, all ages)
Crystal Lake . Born A New /Leylines Ashes / A Greater Danger (metal) - Montage, 6P ($20+, 16+)
Helium Bubble (jazz/funk/soul) - Three Heads Brewing, 7P ($10, 21+)
The Smiths Etc. (The Smith’s Tribute) - Lovin’ Cup, 7:30P ($15/$20, all ages)
The Genesis Show (GenesisTribute) - The Theater at Innovation Square, 7P ($35+, all ages)
Big Logic and The Truth Serum (rock) - The Angry Goat Pub, 10P (FREE, 21+)
Sunday, 5/26
Fowls / March Lions / The Shut-Ins / Rusty Skunk / The Matt Seidel Band / Sydney Driggs / Cooled Jets (rock/misc) - Photo City, 4P ($12+, $18+)

First of all https://www.buddhanet.net/e-learning/filial-sutra.htm, the memes...

At that time, upon hearing the Buddha speak about the virtue of parents' kindness, everyone in the Great Assembly wept sorrowfully and addressed the Tathagata, "On this day, how can we repay the deep kindness of our parents?"

I can hear Seth Meyers doing his Ttump impression, "The Great Assembly came up to me, a big Great Assembly, a strong Great Assembly, tears streaming down it's faces..."

If one can print one copy, then one will get to see one Buddha. If one can print ten copies, then one will get to see ten Buddhas. If one can print one hundred copies, then one will get to see one hundred Buddhas.

This is like an old 90's email chain, right? If you HAND COPY it you get one hundred Buddhas? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? Who has handwriting that good? And who is going to feed those Buddhas and bail them out of jail when they get picked up for disturbing the peace?
Anyway, onto the post.

Filial Piety now acknowledged as "early Buddhist"

Filial piety was practiced by the early Indian Buddhists (1) as a way of requiting for the debt to one’s parents, (2) as a chief ethical good action, and (3) as Dharma

This is a big deal because modern Buddhist scholarship is emerging from a "dark ages" of the 20the century, where too much was decided based on too little evidence. Specifically, Mahayana was considered "mostly chinese" which led to claims about filial piety not being Indian in origin, which has now been debunked. So lots of debunking. Pretty much anything written in the 20th century has to be reexamined.

Filial Piety in Zen

If the lineage is the "parent" then some of these Zen references will make more sense:
A. Requiting for the debt to Zen Master Buddha and the lineage.
B. "In the context of the historical lineage" as an ethical requirement (study, dharma interviewing the past)
C. As the Law, that is, you acknowledge your lineage as part of a co-existence with that lineage, and the laws emerging from that coexistence.

examples (you thought it had already got weird)

1. Someone asked, "Filial devotion - what is it?" Zhaozhou said, "Your mother is ugly."
2. A monk asked Caoshan, "How is it when the mourning clothes are not worn?" Caoshan said, "Today Caoshan's filial duty is fulfilled." The monk said, "How about after fulfillment of filial duty?" Caoshan said, "Caoshan likes to get falling-down drunk."
3. [Before his enlightenment, Dongshan asked] Yün-chü, "An icchantika is someone who commits the five heinous sins. How can such a one be filial?" "Only in so doing does he become filial," replied Yün-chü.
4. Master Langya Jiao said, Propositions of being and nonbeing are like vines clinging to a tree. When the tree falls the vines wither, a fine pile of rotten firewood. Dahui remarked, "Langya very much appears to be mistaking a thief for his son, but even so it's hard to requite such a huge favor."

.

Welcome! ewk comment: Since Zen came before Buddhism, we have this whole problem of trying to define Zen usage of altered Buddhist terms. Rather than assume Buddhism came first, assuming Zen came first (in accord with Zen teachings) we have to realign what we think in order to understand what Zen masters meant to their own audience.

This is what I like to imagine that each Daemon Primarch does in memory of the S.O that has fallen during the Heresy either by battle, forced onto an opposite side, or etc.
Fulgrim: Practices meticulously and rewrites symphonies and songs that she and her muse would make before the Heresy began. Even now into the 41st millenium do the halls of Slaanesh's realm echo with both the haunting yet beautiful meoldies of her Muse, and the screams of anguish of never being able to perfect songs and sonnets that will never be heard by the one person who saw her as the most perfect woman in the world, and in return only asked for her companionship and the thankfulness to be with the most beautiful woman in the world. With it being in her tainted flagship that the one thing she will never allow any Daemonette or any of her Astartes to go near is her prized possessions in the form of the few portraits that her Muse would make for her...Considering them to be the most perfect gifts anyone could or ever will give to her and to taint them with ones inferior touch would be to taint the memory of her beloved.
Mortarion: Despite being a living plague and reaper of flesh for the Plaguelord; there is still one comfort that the Pale Queen takes solace in; in the times where she is not called upon the spread the gifts of Nurgle to those who are still enslaved to the God Emperor. Which is her own special garden she managed to create on the Plague Planet, one that she managed to create in twisted replication of the flowers and other such plants that she and her beloved would grow together....Despite these plants being twisted and malformed from being grown by the powers of rot and decay, there is a beauty and care put into them that Mortarion treasures in finally making her garden bloom once more. That much like her beloved and herself, even in the most horrid conditions possible can something endure to grow and thrive despite the harshness of the world around it. For it was this garden that was made so sacred to the Primarch of the 14th that not even Typhus dared to venture forth to his Primarchs gnarled Garden, lest he be bisected and beaten into rotten pulp for defiling the memories of his Primarchs' lost love.
Angron: Even now as she is caught in the perpetual fury and wrath as an unwilling champion of Khorne to forever feel the bite of the Nails within her skull, there is one thing that has managed to help her begin to overcome and even gain a dominance over the pain they have inflicted upon her for so many centuries. Which is in every 8 months when she is not called upon to butcher Imperials, Xenos, and etc in the name of her new master; does she go to a barren planet now void of life and ruined by the scars of the Heresy, yet one where no World Eater dare touches in fear of being turned into a bloody smear where they stand. Wherein she goes forward to not only practice with her weapons as she had in days of old when she was still something resembling human, but to visit the one place where she remembers the one single string of memories that makes her happy and gives her clarity strong enough to beat back the bite of the Nails. It was forested area overgrown by moss, vines, and other plant-life where the ruddy skies remained clear and the raging falls surged forth, and yet despite the once oasis becoming a jungle overgrown and gnarled. That it was this place she would visit to remember the good times, the times where she could sit and be at peace with her Rose, the times where they would lie under starlight and be away from the battle and bloodshed; where Angron could know a moments peace. And it would be here in the barren jungles of a once paradise planet that the Daemon Primarch would sit in pained meditation, where she would focus to battle away the bite of the Nails and day by day overcome their incessant gnawing at her skull, but at times have the comfort of knowing that her Rose was there with her. Not in flesh and bone, but in rebellious spirit to help her overcome the Nails as they once did in life...once step at a time as she sat, took a deep breath and focused her resolve and endless wrath inwards to seek a peace she had long since been denied.
Magnus the Red: As the one-eyed sorceress prepares to unleash her wrath against the wretched Wolves of Fenris, she studies her spellbooks once more to search for spells that would bring an end to Russ's wretched planet. Yet as she did so and continued to pour over ancient texts at speeds and proficiency so astonishing that it was mind-numbing to watch one singular entity absorb decades if not centuries worth of arcane lore in mere minutes. Did she eventually stop when she happened upon a stack of story books on her many shelves within her personal library, her single eye glancing upon said novels as those she remembered as the story-books her lover would read to them before the Heresy. Stories of ancient heroes and those who outsmarted deities of old through cunning and guile, stories from Ancient Terra where heroes wielded arcane might that even to her felt outlandish yet humorous in what could be done. With her stopping her studies into blasphemously powerful magic to read the novels that her and her lover would read in their spare time, taking comfort in them as an escape and inspiration for what further pursuits into the esoteric they could dive into, and seeing them as a gateway to being heroes of their own story. And so Magnus the Red would pick one of those story books and read them for the next few hours, allowing herself to become lost in the world of fantasy and fiction that would allow her to escape her reality as a Daemon sorceress of immense power...That for a few moments she could escape to a world of imagination where she could be with her beloved once more...if only for a short moment in time.

I have a plant that's growing in different places all around my yard (mainly near the fence areas, on all sides). The stalk has the exact shape of a bamboo pole plant.🤨 It's tall, thick, and very tough & durable. BUT ALONG WITH ALL OF THIS, IT HAS THICK THORNS. These thorns are spaced out about 2-3 inches from each other. It also has these extremely thin + curly vines that hang off of it, that are different lengths, but most of them are around 6-8inches, when pulled to be straight. Theres also what seems to be some kind of a "root" or "stump" type of system that's going on, but so far I've only seen this in 1 particular spot. This "thing" weirdly enough reminds me of a bunch of hard, rotten colored apples, that are partially sticking out of the ground. I've never seen anything like it.😵‍💫 It MAY NOT be connected to these "generic, wanna be bamboo poles", but all I know is that I spotted both, for the first time ever in all of the 32 years that I've lived here.🏡 Not to mention, that there's multiple "wanna be bamboo stalks" that are continously growing around this "stump, that clearly wants to be a bunch of rotted apples" type of thing of a thingy.🤷🏼‍♀️ Any who...If ANYONE happens to know wth this monstrosity, (that's unfortunately called a plant) really is? If u do, PLEASE LMK, I'd appreciate it.🫶🏻 Also, it would be very much appreciated, if u know exactly how to get rid of it for good.😁 Thanks in advance to everyone!✌🏻🤟🏻

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In 1958, I was one of dozens, if not hundreds, who were wrongfully detained in mental asylums across the United States. I know how it sounds. Believe me, I do. But I was not crazy. A simple mental evaluation would have proven that. But, unsurprisingly, nobody thought to administer one.
Even after all these years, I can recall it vividly. My good-for-nothing, downright rotten ex-husband, Allen, had accused me of attacking him. He claimed that one day I had just “snapped,” and that when he tried to calm me down, I raked my razor-sharp nails across his face. He even had the scars to prove it.
I couldn’t comprehend his motives. Even now, I still do not understand what drove him to commit such a depraved act. What had I done to deserve such a demented punishment? I will never truly know the answer. Allen died in 1987 from acute lymphoma. May his soul burn in Hell.
I was devastated when the judge handed down my sentence. Back then, we didn’t photograph every minor detail of our lives like young people do today. Forensics hadn’t progressed to where they are now either, which meant it was Allen’s word against mine. And the evidence was stacked against me.
The court has deemed Elizabeth Annette Mueller a significant threat to herself and others. After detailed evaluation, she has been ruled unfit to stand trial. To prevent further harm to members of the general populace, I hereby order her to receive indefinite treatment at Trenton Psychiatric Hospital, formerly known as the New Jersey State Lunatic Asylum.
“No!” I wailed, tears streaming down my face. “Your Honor, I am not crazy, you have to believe me! Please, just give me a chance to-”
The judge held up his hand, effectively silencing me. His eyes locked with mine, his upper lip curled into a snarl.
“Mrs. Mueller, my ruling is final. I wish you the best with your… rehabilitation,” he smirked, showcasing rows of jagged, yellow teeth.
I glanced over to my then-husband, tears clouding my vision. I’ll never forget what I saw. A smug look had overtaken his countenance. It was as if we were playing an intense match of chess, and Allen had won.
“Why?” I squeaked, my voice thin and brittle. “Why would you do this to me? I’m your wife!”
“You were my wife,” he replied coldly. “Once you are admitted, I will file for an annulment. I really do hope you receive the proper treatment, Elizabeth. You deserve nothing less.”
I was given twenty-four hours to make my preparations. Just one day to say goodbye to my friends and family before being carted off to unending purgatory. Needless to say, I was inconsolable.
“Liza, everything will be okay. We are going to fight this tooth and nail,” Mom told me for the hundredth time.
“Your mother is right. We both know that you aren’t capable of such violence. We will stop at nothing to bring you home,” Dad assured me, tears brimming at the corners of his dark brown eyes.
My lower lip trembled. I couldn’t contain my own tears any longer. “Mom, Dad… I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want this. Any of it. It’s not fair,” I cried, sobs wracking my body. Mom gently rubbed my back, staying silent.
“If you can’t get me released, p-promise that you won’t forget me, okay?” Dad pulled me into a hug, holding me tightly. Mom joined him, wrapping her arms around both of us.
“Liza, we could never forget you. No matter what happens, you are our daughter, and nothing will change that. Your mother and I will love you forever, even in death.” Mom burst into tears, her steel resolve finally crumbling. I wished we could stay like that forever. That I would never have to leave their sides again. But, of course, that isn’t how things played out.
When my parents finally released me from their embrace, a white panel van with the words Trenton Psychiatric Hospital imprinted on the side sat idling behind them. A sense of impending doom crashed over me once again. This was it. My life as I knew it was about to be over.
I gazed up at my parents as two burly men clad in white began stalking up the driveway. I’ll never forget that image. Dad’s lips were pursed, attempting to conceal a permanent frown. He stared at the ground as the men approached, an intense sorrow swimming behind his pupils.
His arm was wrapped snugly around Mom. It appeared as if she hadn’t even noticed our visitors. She had covered her face with her hands, but even so, a steady stream of tears flooded through her fingers. It felt like a sick joke. What had I done to deserve such a cruel fate?
“Mrs. Mueller, it’s time,” a deep voice grunted. I turned to find the pair of behemoths looming over me. Their cold, unwavering stares bore into my psyche, disapproving frowns etched into their faces. Something in me snapped.
At that moment, the reality of my situation finally sank in. This wasn’t some twisted nightmare. It was real.
“No! I don’t want to go! Please, don’t take me!” I sobbed, attempting to flee back to the safety of my parents. The men seized my arms, preventing my escape.
“I’m s-sorry, sweetie. We’ll visit as often as we can. We love you,” Dad said through teary eyes.
As they dragged me away, I could do nothing but stare at my parents’ somber faces. I kicked and screamed to no avail, and before I knew it, I was being brutally tossed into the back of the van, left to peer through the back window as we departed. I watched helplessly as the outline of my parents grew further and further away, until eventually, they disappeared from view entirely.
The ride to the facility was spent in silence, aside from my occasional sniffles. Dad’s final words repeatedly echoed through my mind: We love you.
I didn’t say it back. God, why didn’t I just say it back? I didn’t know when I would see my parents again, yet I couldn’t bring myself to utter those three simple words.
“Look there, miss,” the driver said, snapping me back to reality. “That’s where you’re going to spend the rest of your days.”
A massive, multi-story building loomed on the horizon. Dark clouds swirled behind it, lending to its eerie ambiance. The red brick exterior was weathered with age, and vines snaked up and down the sides. My heart dropped. The place more closely resembled a prison than a mental institution.
In no time, the van was screeching to a halt. The doors flew open, and I was forcefully shoved out of the back. One of the men grabbed the collar of my blouse and violently pulled me up the steps.
“Do you mind? I can walk with my own two feet,” I spat, glaring daggers at the gorilla of a man pulling me along.
“Sorry, sweetheart. Not gonna happen. I don’t trust you not to run off.”
I frowned, resigning myself to being tossed around like a ragdoll. The front door was flung open, and I was pushed through. I could sense an immediate shift in the atmosphere. The institution radiated a dreary, hopeless aura. The hallway before me stunk of rot and mildew, which was compounded by cigarette smoke wafting from the reception counter.
“Your name is?”
A gravelly voice drifted to my ears. The middle-aged woman whom the cancer stick belonged to stared at me expectantly, her dull, sunken eyes connecting with mine.
“E-Elizabeth. Elizabeth Mueller.”
The woman sucked in on her cigarette, finishing it off. She snubbed out the smoldering butt and began shuffling through paperwork.
“Elizabeth Annette Mueller? Age twenty-one?” she asked, her rough, monotone voice like nails on a chalkboard.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Take these and get changed in the restroom over there. Bring me your clothes and any personal belongings once you’re finished,” she muttered, handing me a cream-colored hospital gown.
I cried as I shed my clothes. The last ounce of freedom I had was being stripped away, and I was helpless to prevent it. Why was this happening? Why me?
I slipped into the gown and peered at my reflection in the mirror. This was my existence now. I was nothing more than a number, indistinguishable from any other patient confined to that derelict hell house. As I would come to find out, however, that wasn’t entirely true…
I sat on the toilet, quietly sobbing. I wanted as much time to myself as possible before being processed. But, after only mere minutes, a loud knock rattled the door.
“Hurry up in there! We ain’t got all day!”
I quickly wiped away my tears, gathering my garments. “I’m using the facilities! I’ll be out momentarily!”
I heard a muffled grunt as the technician shuffled away. I sighed, splashing my face with water.
Okay. I can do this. I can make it out of here. Just behave and stay out of trouble. That won’t be so difficult, right? Mom and Dad will secure my freedom before I know it.
After reassuring myself, I exited the restroom with a newfound resolve. Dad was right. He would fight for me. It was only a matter of time… Wasn’t it?
I plopped my clothes onto the receptionist’s desk. The woman lazily glanced up at me. A new cigarette had already appeared between her fingers. “Thanks, hon. Your buddies here will show you to your room.”
I nodded, turning back to the gargantuan men. For the first time, I thought to read the nametags pinned to their uniforms. The one who had dragged me into the building was named Samson. He constantly wore a menacing, no-nonsense expression. His balding twenty-something-year-old cohort’s name was Erik. I made sure to take a mental note of that.
“This way,” Samson grumbled, stomping down the hall. I turned to Erik. He pursed his lips and extended a hand, motioning for me to follow his colleague. I diligently obliged.
The further we walked, the more run-down the institution began to appear. Whereas the foyer looked clean, the wing that I was being herded into didn’t even try to pretend. Eventually, we found ourselves standing before a thick steel door. Samson faced me with a snarl.
“This is it, ma’am. Kiss your autonomy goodbye,” he growled, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“Duly noted. Do you have any advice for me before we proceed?”
“Yeah, I got something for ya. Stay outta trouble. Make my job any more difficult than it has to be, and I’ll make your life a living hell. Got it?” Samson snapped, his voice echoing down the empty corridor. Erik averted his gaze. Come to think of it, he hadn’t uttered a single word the entire time.
“Understood,” I squeaked. I had to stay strong. I couldn’t let my confidence crumble.
Samson pounded his fist against the door. A slot clinked open, and a pair of bloodshot eyeballs presented themselves. “Password.”
“Alley cat.”
I heard a grunt of approval before the rusted door hinges began to creak open. A third insanely tall man stood in the doorway.
“Thanks, Wallace. Come on, miss,” Samson said, continuing forward.
The further we went, the more appalled I became. The wallpaper had degraded to a deep yellow with brown splotches interspersed throughout, along with intermittent dashes of… blood? Cockroaches skittered across the floor, and I was fairly certain that I was breathing in spores of black mold. My heart sank. It quickly became apparent that my stay at Trenton Psychiatric Hospital would be much worse than expected…
We marched onward until we reached a section with rooms on either side. I curiously peered into them as we passed. To my dismay, each appeared to be filthier than the last. Every room boasted a twin bed with a thin metal frame, a sink that may or may not have ever been cleaned, and an absolutely abhorrent looking toilet. I immediately assumed that the facility had never even considered hiring cleaning services.
Samson suddenly stopped in his tracks, pointing at one of the doors. A dingy plaque barely clinging to the frame read 32-B. “This one’s yours.”
My eyes grew wide as dinner plates. Disgusting was an understatement. It appeared that I would not be provided with a blanket, forcing me to sleep on a bare mattress that was stained a dark yellow. The walls had been smeared in some brown, reeking substance (which I later confirmed to be feces), and the knob for the cold water on the sink had been snapped clean off. Just looking at my new living quarters nearly caused me to vomit.
“You can make yourself at home later,” Samson grinned, noticing the horrified expression written across my visage. “I’ll show you to the recreational area.”
We continued down the corridor. I didn’t care what the recreational area looked like. I couldn’t get the image of that putrid, revolting excuse for a room out of my head. My hope was already beginning to wane. How could I manage to survive in such repugnant conditions?
Before I knew it, Samson had stopped our little entourage for the final time. He pushed open a set of double doors, revealing a large room that contained… rocking chairs. Decrepit, broken-down rocking chairs. Well, those and a smattering of patients.
“This is the end of the road for us. Play nice,” Samson smirked, shoving me into the room. Erik glanced down at me and nodded, his eyes portraying a deep sadness. Something told me that he wasn’t working that job of his own volition.
I nervously surveyed my surroundings. Every pair of eyes was locked onto me. I was absolutely mortified.
Almost all at once, everyone just… returned to their devices. A thin, bald man was staring at the wall, clapping every so often, as if he was a child watching cartoons. An old woman sat in a rocking chair, biting her nails, her eyes darting rapidly back and forth. A younger woman, no older than thirty, rocked softly in her chair, simply people-watching. I made up my mind. There had to be at least one other reasonably sane person in that asylum, and I was determined to find them.
I approached the woman and claimed a seat beside her. My heart thundered in my chest as I built up the courage to speak to her. “H-hi. My name is Elizabeth. What’s yours?”
The woman turned to me and smiled. She was pretty. Long, blonde hair fell past her shoulders, and I could tell that she had at least attempted to keep up a decent appearance. As much as one could in such a decrepit cesspit, at least.
The woman’s ocean blue eyes connected with mine. Her voice was like a melody as it drifted to my ears. “Oh, I know you, darling. I know all of you. I am but a vessel for my lord, Beelzebub. He lives inside of me, just like he lives in each one of you gathered here today. He will come for you. He will come for you. He will come for YOU!” the woman shouted, devolving into a wild laughing fit. I slowly backed away as her cackles crescendoed. I needed to be more careful.
Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I froze, my breath catching in my throat. I slowly turned to face whoever it was.
I was shocked to find that the man who greeted me looked… normal. While most of the other patients wore a variety of expressions ranging from anxious to vacant to utterly depraved, the man before me seemed calm. Almost too calm.
“Hello there. My name is George,” he said, extending a hand. I cautiously accepted it.
“Elizabeth. The pleasure is all mine.”
“Look, Elizabeth, I’m not sure why or how you ended up here, but you seem lucid enough. My friends and I,” he said, gesturing to an amicable-appearing man and woman sitting in a corner, “are just about the only people who have retained our sanity in this whole god-forsaken dump. We would like to invite you to join us. Before one of them gets a hold of you, that is.”
When he put it that way, it was really a no-brainer. “I would be honored to make their acquaintance,” I replied, flashing him a weak smile.
“Alright, then. Right this-”
Before George could complete his statement, a sickening thud erupted from directly behind me. I spun around and nearly fainted upon realizing where the noise had come from.
An enormous man had clasped the devil woman’s skull in his hand and began relentlessly bashing it into the concrete floor.
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” he screamed, pounding her face into the ground again and again and again. Panic surged through my veins like venom. The woman never stopped laughing. Not until the light faded from her eyes and her features had been mashed to a pulpy, unrecognizable amalgamation of crimson flesh, bone, and teeth.
I had never witnessed anything so violent, not even on the television. I stifled a scream. Then, I watched all the rage begin to drain from the giant’s face. A sense of horror quickly washed over his countenance. He gazed at the dripping skull gripped in the palm of his hand, before dropping it to the ground, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes.
“No. No, I’m sorry. I j-just wanted her to shut up!” he babbled, speaking to no one in particular. “I did it again. Oh god, I did it again,” he sobbed, dropping to his knees, his gargantuan body trembling uncontrollably.
“Things aren’t looking too good for either of them,” George muttered, staring at his feet.
“What do you mean? What’s going to happen to him?” I asked, awaiting a response.
“You’ll see.”
Seconds later, Erik and Samson appeared along with two other technicians dressed in all white, aside from the blue protective gloves covering their hands. The squad rushed over to the wailing man. Samson produced a needle from the pocket on his shirt and jabbed it into his arm. The man howled in pain, but he was helpless to stop it. The others had his arms and legs pinned to the ground, immobilizing him.
“Did they just euthanize him?” I mumbled.
“No. Just watch,” George retorted, his eyes glued to the scene before us.
They waited for a moment as the perpetrator’s cries began to devolve into weak whimpers. Eventually, the crew stood, pulling the sobbing wreck of a man to his feet. His eyes were glazed over, and two of the attendants had to help him walk.
“Wh-what did you d-do to me?” he slurred, groggily placing one foot in front of the other.
“Don’t worry about it. You’re gonna be fine,” Samson grinned patting him on the back.
The group proceeded out the doors, opting to return later for the woman’s desecrated corpse. Samson followed as his fellow caretakers took the man away. I made eye contact with him as he left.
For a brief moment, he smiled at me. It wasn’t a warm, inviting smile. No, that was the disturbed grin of a man who enjoyed his work a bit too much.
Part 2
Part 3
Final

In 1958, I was one of dozens, if not hundreds, who were wrongfully detained in mental asylums across the United States. I know how it sounds. Believe me, I do. But I was not crazy. A simple mental evaluation would have proven that. But, unsurprisingly, nobody thought to administer one.
Even after all these years, I can recall it vividly. My good-for-nothing, downright rotten ex-husband, Allen, had accused me of attacking him. He claimed that one day I had just “snapped,” and that when he tried to calm me down, I raked my razor-sharp nails across his face. He even had the scars to prove it.
I couldn’t comprehend his motives. Even now, I still do not understand what drove him to commit such a depraved act. What had I done to deserve such a demented punishment? I will never truly know the answer. Allen died in 1987 from acute lymphoma. May his soul burn in Hell.
I was devastated when the judge handed down my sentence. Back then, we didn’t photograph every minor detail of our lives like young people do today. Forensics hadn’t progressed to where they are now either, which meant it was Allen’s word against mine. And the evidence was stacked against me.
The court has deemed Elizabeth Annette Mueller a significant threat to herself and others. After detailed evaluation, she has been ruled unfit to stand trial. To prevent further harm to members of the general populace, I hereby order her to receive indefinite treatment at Trenton Psychiatric Hospital, formerly known as the New Jersey State Lunatic Asylum.
“No!” I wailed, tears streaming down my face. “Your Honor, I am not crazy, you have to believe me! Please, just give me a chance to-”
The judge held up his hand, effectively silencing me. His eyes locked with mine, his upper lip curled into a snarl.
“Mrs. Mueller, my ruling is final. I wish you the best with your… rehabilitation,” he smirked, showcasing rows of jagged, yellow teeth.
I glanced over to my then-husband, tears clouding my vision. I’ll never forget what I saw. A smug look had overtaken his countenance. It was as if we were playing an intense match of chess, and Allen had won.
“Why?” I squeaked, my voice thin and brittle. “Why would you do this to me? I’m your wife!”
“You were my wife,” he replied coldly. “Once you are admitted, I will file for an annulment. I really do hope you receive the proper treatment, Elizabeth. You deserve nothing less.”
I was given twenty-four hours to make my preparations. Just one day to say goodbye to my friends and family before being carted off to unending purgatory. Needless to say, I was inconsolable.
“Liza, everything will be okay. We are going to fight this tooth and nail,” Mom told me for the hundredth time.
“Your mother is right. We both know that you aren’t capable of such violence. We will stop at nothing to bring you home,” Dad assured me, tears brimming at the corners of his dark brown eyes.
My lower lip trembled. I couldn’t contain my own tears any longer. “Mom, Dad… I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want this. Any of it. It’s not fair,” I cried, sobs wracking my body. Mom gently rubbed my back, staying silent.
“If you can’t get me released, p-promise that you won’t forget me, okay?” Dad pulled me into a hug, holding me tightly. Mom joined him, wrapping her arms around both of us.
“Liza, we could never forget you. No matter what happens, you are our daughter, and nothing will change that. Your mother and I will love you forever, even in death.” Mom burst into tears, her steel resolve finally crumbling. I wished we could stay like that forever. That I would never have to leave their sides again. But, of course, that isn’t how things played out.
When my parents finally released me from their embrace, a white panel van with the words Trenton Psychiatric Hospital imprinted on the side sat idling behind them. A sense of impending doom crashed over me once again. This was it. My life as I knew it was about to be over.
I gazed up at my parents as two burly men clad in white began stalking up the driveway. I’ll never forget that image. Dad’s lips were pursed, attempting to conceal a permanent frown. He stared at the ground as the men approached, an intense sorrow swimming behind his pupils.
His arm was wrapped snugly around Mom. It appeared as if she hadn’t even noticed our visitors. She had covered her face with her hands, but even so, a steady stream of tears flooded through her fingers. It felt like a sick joke. What had I done to deserve such a cruel fate?
“Mrs. Mueller, it’s time,” a deep voice grunted. I turned to find the pair of behemoths looming over me. Their cold, unwavering stares bore into my psyche, disapproving frowns etched into their faces. Something in me snapped.
At that moment, the reality of my situation finally sank in. This wasn’t some twisted nightmare. It was real.
“No! I don’t want to go! Please, don’t take me!” I sobbed, attempting to flee back to the safety of my parents. The men seized my arms, preventing my escape.
“I’m s-sorry, sweetie. We’ll visit as often as we can. We love you,” Dad said through teary eyes.
As they dragged me away, I could do nothing but stare at my parents’ somber faces. I kicked and screamed to no avail, and before I knew it, I was being brutally tossed into the back of the van, left to peer through the back window as we departed. I watched helplessly as the outline of my parents grew further and further away, until eventually, they disappeared from view entirely.
The ride to the facility was spent in silence, aside from my occasional sniffles. Dad’s final words repeatedly echoed through my mind: We love you.
I didn’t say it back. God, why didn’t I just say it back? I didn’t know when I would see my parents again, yet I couldn’t bring myself to utter those three simple words.
“Look there, miss,” the driver said, snapping me back to reality. “That’s where you’re going to spend the rest of your days.”
A massive, multi-story building loomed on the horizon. Dark clouds swirled behind it, lending to its eerie ambiance. The red brick exterior was weathered with age, and vines snaked up and down the sides. My heart dropped. The place more closely resembled a prison than a mental institution.
In no time, the van was screeching to a halt. The doors flew open, and I was forcefully shoved out of the back. One of the men grabbed the collar of my blouse and violently pulled me up the steps.
“Do you mind? I can walk with my own two feet,” I spat, glaring daggers at the gorilla of a man pulling me along.
“Sorry, sweetheart. Not gonna happen. I don’t trust you not to run off.”
I frowned, resigning myself to being tossed around like a ragdoll. The front door was flung open, and I was pushed through. I could sense an immediate shift in the atmosphere. The institution radiated a dreary, hopeless aura. The hallway before me stunk of rot and mildew, which was compounded by cigarette smoke wafting from the reception counter.
“Your name is?”
A gravelly voice drifted to my ears. The middle-aged woman whom the cancer stick belonged to stared at me expectantly, her dull, sunken eyes connecting with mine.
“E-Elizabeth. Elizabeth Mueller.”
The woman sucked in on her cigarette, finishing it off. She snubbed out the smoldering butt and began shuffling through paperwork.
“Elizabeth Annette Mueller? Age twenty-one?” she asked, her rough, monotone voice like nails on a chalkboard.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Take these and get changed in the restroom over there. Bring me your clothes and any personal belongings once you’re finished,” she muttered, handing me a cream-colored hospital gown.
I cried as I shed my clothes. The last ounce of freedom I had was being stripped away, and I was helpless to prevent it. Why was this happening? Why me?
I slipped into the gown and peered at my reflection in the mirror. This was my existence now. I was nothing more than a number, indistinguishable from any other patient confined to that derelict hellhouse. As I would come to find out, however, that wasn’t entirely true…
I sat on the toilet, quietly sobbing. I wanted as much time to myself as possible before being processed. But, after only mere minutes, a loud knock rattled the door.
“Hurry up in there! We ain’t got all day!”
I quickly wiped away my tears, gathering my garments. “I’m using the facilities! I’ll be out momentarily!”
I heard a muffled grunt as the technician shuffled away. I sighed, splashing my face with water.
Okay. I can do this. I can make it out of here. Just behave, and stay out of trouble. That won’t be so difficult, right? Mom and Dad will secure my freedom before I know it.
After reassuring myself, I exited the restroom with a newfound resolve. Dad was right. He would fight for me. It was only a matter of time… Wasn’t it?
I plopped my clothes onto the receptionist’s desk. The woman lazily glanced up at me. A new cigarette had already appeared between her fingers. “Thanks, hon. Your buddies here will show you to your room.”
I nodded, turning back to the gargantuan men. For the first time, I thought to read the nametags pinned to their uniforms. The one who had dragged me into the building was named Samson. He constantly wore a menacing, no-nonsense expression. His balding twenty-something-year-old cohort’s name was Erik. I made sure to take a mental note of that.
“This way,” Samson grumbled, stomping down the hall. I turned to Erik. He pursed his lips and extended a hand, motioning for me to follow his colleague. I diligently obliged.
The further we walked, the more run-down the institution began to appear. Whereas the foyer looked clean, the wing that I was being herded into didn’t even try to pretend. Eventually, we found ourselves standing before a thick steel door. Samson faced me with a snarl.
“This is it, ma’am. Kiss your autonomy goodbye,” he growled, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“Duly noted. Do you have any advice for me before we proceed?”
“Yeah, I got something for ya. Stay outta trouble. Make my job any more difficult than it has to be, and I’ll make your life a living hell. Got it?” Samson snapped, his voice echoing down the empty corridor. Erik averted his gaze. Come to think of it, he hadn’t uttered a single word the entire time.
“Understood,” I squeaked. I had to stay strong. I couldn’t let my confidence crumble.
Samson pounded his fist against the door. A slot clinked open, and a pair of bloodshot eyeballs presented themselves. “Password.”
“Alley cat.”
I heard a grunt of approval before the rusted door hinges began to creak open. A third insanely tall man stood in the doorway.
“Thanks, Wallace. Come on, miss,” Samson said, continuing forward.
The further we went, the more appalled I became. The wallpaper had degraded to a deep yellow with brown splotches interspersed throughout, along with intermittent dashes of… blood? Cockroaches skittered across the floor, and I was fairly certain that I was breathing in spores of black mold. My heart sank. It quickly became apparent that my stay at Trenton Psychiatric Hospital would be much worse than expected…
We marched onward until we reached a section with rooms on either side. I curiously peered into them as we passed. To my dismay, each appeared to be filthier than the last. Every room boasted a twin bed with a thin metal frame, a sink that may or may not have ever been cleaned, and an absolutely abhorrent looking toilet. I immediately assumed that the facility had never even considered hiring cleaning services.
Samson suddenly stopped in his tracks, pointing at one of the doors. A dingy plaque barely clinging to the frame read 32-B. “This one’s yours.”
My eyes grew wide as dinner plates. Disgusting was an understatement. It appeared that I would not be provided with a blanket, forcing me to sleep on a bare mattress that was stained a dark yellow. The walls had been smeared in some brown, reeking substance (which I later confirmed to be feces), and the knob for the cold water on the sink had been snapped clean off. Just looking at my new living quarters nearly caused me to vomit.
“You can make yourself at home later,” Samson grinned, noticing the horrified expression written across my visage. “I’ll show you to the recreational area.”
We continued down the corridor. I didn’t care what the recreational area looked like. I couldn’t get the image of that putrid, revolting excuse for a room out of my head. My hope was already beginning to wane. How could I manage to survive in such repugnant conditions?
Before I knew it, Samson had stopped our little entourage for the final time. He pushed open a set of double doors, revealing a large room that contained… rocking chairs. Decrepit, broken-down rocking chairs. Well, those and a smattering of patients.
“This is the end of the road for us. Play nice,” Samson smirked, shoving me into the room. Erik glanced down at me and nodded, his eyes portraying a deep sadness. Something told me that he wasn’t working that job of his own volition.
I nervously surveyed my surroundings. Every pair of eyes was locked onto me. I was absolutely mortified.
Almost all at once, everyone just… returned to their devices. A thin, bald man was staring at the wall, clapping every so often, as if he was a child watching cartoons. An old woman sat in a rocking chair, biting her nails, her eyes darting rapidly back and forth. A younger woman, no older than thirty, rocked softly in her chair, simply people-watching. I made up my mind. There had to be at least one other reasonably sane person in that asylum, and I was determined to find them.
I approached the woman and claimed a seat beside her. My heart thundered in my chest as I built up the courage to speak to her. “H-hi. My name is Elizabeth. What’s yours?”
The woman turned to me and smiled. She was pretty. Long, blonde hair fell past her shoulders, and I could tell that she had at least attempted to keep up a decent appearance. As much as one could in such a decrepit cesspit, at least.
The woman’s ocean blue eyes connected with mine. Her voice was like a melody as it drifted to my ears. “Oh, I know you, darling. I know all of you. I am but a vessel for my lord, Beezelbub. He lives inside of me, just like he lives in each one of you gathered here today. He will come for you. He will come for you. He will come for YOU!” the woman shouted, devolving into a wild laughing fit. I slowly backed away as her cackles crescendoed. I needed to be more careful.
Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I froze, my breath catching in my throat. I slowly turned to face whoever it was.
I was shocked to find that the man who greeted me looked… normal. While most of the other patients wore a variety of expressions ranging from anxious to vacant to utterly depraved, the man before me seemed calm. Almost too calm.
“Hello there. My name is George,” he said, extending a hand. I cautiously accepted it.
“Elizabeth. The pleasure is all mine.”
“Look, Elizabeth, I’m not sure why or how you ended up here, but you seem lucid enough. My friends and I,” he said, gesturing to an amicable-appearing man and woman sitting in a corner, “are just about the only people who have retained our sanity in this whole god-forsaken dump. We would like to invite you to join us. Before one of them gets a hold of you, that is.”
When he put it that way, it was really a no-brainer. “I would be honored to make their acquaintance,” I replied, flashing him a weak smile.
“Alright, then. Right this-”
Before George could complete his statement, a sickening thud erupted from directly behind me. I spun around and nearly fainted upon realizing where the noise had come from.
An enormous man had clasped the devil woman’s skull in his hand and began relentlessly bashing it into the concrete floor.
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” he screamed, pounding her face into the ground again and again and again. Panic surged through my veins like venom. The woman never stopped laughing. Not until the light faded from her eyes and her features had been mashed to a pulpy, unrecognizable amalgamation of crimson flesh, bone, and teeth.
I had never witnessed anything so violent, not even on the television. I stifled a scream. Then, I watched all the rage begin to drain from the giant’s face. A sense of horror quickly washed over his countenance. He gazed at the dripping skull gripped in the palm of his hand, before dropping it to the ground, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes.
“No. No, I’m sorry. I j-just wanted her to shut up!” he babbled, speaking to no one in particular. “I did it again. Oh god, I did it again,” he sobbed, dropping to his knees, his gargantuan body trembling uncontrollably.
“Things aren’t looking too good for either of them,” George muttered, staring at his feet.
“What do you mean? What’s going to happen to him?” I asked, awaiting a response.
“You’ll see.”
Seconds later, Erik and Samson appeared along with two other technicians dressed in all white, aside from the blue protective gloves covering their hands. The squad rushed over to the wailing man. Samson produced a needle from the pocket on his shirt and jabbed it into his arm. The man howled in pain, but he was helpless to stop it. The others had his arms and legs pinned to the ground, immobilizing him.
“Did they just euthanize him?” I mumbled.
“No. Just watch,” George retorted, his eyes glued to the scene before us.
They waited for a moment as the perpetrator’s cries began to devolve into weak whimpers. Eventually, the crew stood, pulling the sobbing wreck of a man to his feet. His eyes were glazed over, and two of the attendants had to help him walk.
“Wh-what did you d-do to me?” he slurred, groggily placing one foot in front of the other.
“Don’t worry about it. You’re gonna be fine,” Samson grinned patting him on the back.
The group proceeded out the doors, opting to return later for the woman’s desecrated corpse. Samson followed as his fellow caretakers took the man away. I made eye contact with him as he left.
For a brief moment, he smiled at me. It wasn’t a warm, inviting smile. No, that was the disturbed grin of a man who enjoyed his work a bit too much.
Part 2
Part 3
Final
OD Post

I'm not sure If I like this, I've been getting into writing more and wanted to make something I'm proud of. It's supposed to turn into a medieval apocalyptic survival but I haven't gotten to that point, any pointers are appreciated!
Prologue
An Unprecedented Danger
Astrid had warned me numerous times not to go on raids alone. “We don’t have supplies to waste on useless runs.” She would say. But tonight was much different. Rather than just the theories in my own mind. I had received a good amount of information. A man in the pub was blackout drunk, I doubt he even realized what he was saying before he mentioned a rich courier of supplies, he was waiting for. He had been ordered to take them to the king once they arrived in the providence. He claimed the escorts were armed to the teeth with sanctioned knights, but I was hoping that that was a working of the keg of ale he consumed. Either way if I could pull this run off my bandit guild would be set for 3 months at least. I didn’t believe in teams, most of the time they were always too slow to be of any use, but this group had saved me from an abusive father back when I was just a boy. I owed it to them to give a hand until they decided I had paid off their favor. It had been many years since then and I was a working adult, bakers’ hand by day and bandit by night. My thoughts were interrupted when I saw a distant light down the trail. This must be them I think to myself. Nobody would be travelling this late at night unless it was meant for the king, I shuffle slightly in the brush I’m waiting in. I was purposely in wait in the densest part of the forest so no noise would be heard by any other traveling groups that may have camps nearby, which also means I wouldn’t be found if something went wrong. The caravan draws closer, and I hear the clanking of metal on metal. Knights, the bloke wasn’t kidding. I saw fully armored knights, their longswords reflecting the wobbly lantern light held by the caravan driver. Helmets covered the entirety of their heads except a slit they use to see. They must’ve been expecting some rebels to be holding an ambush because there’d be no other reason for them to have their whole suits of armor. They all bear the king’s crest, it’s an image of an eye, with golden trimming; an emerald color is the color of the iris and an outline of black surrounds everything. This must be a valuable load, there’s not much in this world that is worth that much protection. The knights get closer, there seems to be about 6 of them; they get closer to where I’m in and I see a glow behind the steel helmets they’re wearing. It’s their eyes, they were completely absent of any semblance of life; I notice their pupils are surrounded with a thin white aura, and their limbs seem to drag behind their sluggish movements. I stay as still as I possibly can. The caravan driver is now visible, and I now see his face clearly. His cheeks are sunken in, and his skin is loose around his bones. His mouth lays open with rotten teeth crowded inside. This isn’t normal; no matter what occurred I had to stay perfectly silent. Whatever these were they weren’t human. I must survive and warn the city about what was coming. I wince as I suddenly hear a horrid screeching sound coming from the inside of the caravan, I move in shock, but the knights don’t seem to notice the sound. My eyes are drawn to the caravan and the cloth covering flaps as a small leather bag slips out. I’ll collect it once they’re a good distance away. I watch as they move past where I’m hiding at a snail’s pace. The back of the caravan, also covered with a curtain, so I’m unable to peer inside. As the light disappears around the curves of the road I crawl out of my bush, dirt and leaves now caked on the sleeves of my clothes. Walking tentatively towards the leather bag, it’s about the size of a child’s boot. I look around, making sure to be warry of any unwelcome beasts. Before grabbing the bag and putting it in my jacket pocket, there seems to be something small inside, but I don’t have the time or vision currently to check what it is. My current mission is to make it back to The Guild and tell them what I saw. I turn towards the brush and begin sprinting, I would beat the caravan if I didn’t run into any trouble, the shortcut The Guild uses used to be a game trail but is hardly traveled by anybody. Creatures stay away from it because of the elden sap we had smeared on the trees. So, it makes it useless from a hunter’s standpoint. Tree branches reach for my body as I run through the dense forest. The Guild’s signature mask protects my face from the twigs eagerly trying to cut my face. The mask is reinforced with iron-silk, so it was extremely durable, with a lotus emblem on the bottom right to signify my allegiance. I’m sprinting as quickly as I can, and the ground becomes a blur, and the sky uses rays of moonlight to pierce the dense foliage. The moonlight occasionally hits my eyes, and they reflect their brown color. If not for the full moon I wouldn’t be able to see the logs I was now vaulting over. I had been running for around 20 minutes before I had to stop and eat some miners’ ichor, which reinforced my muscles and fixed the fatigue I felt, making it so I could run at the same pace for at least another hour or so. With the power of the ichor, I swiftened my pace taking advantage of a skill I had learned from a man in the Guild to avoid tripping hazards while moving at quicker speeds. It took me a while still before I saw the glow of the town through the forest. I just needed to make it a little further until I could warn the guild of what was coming. I had hope of that goal until I began feeling a tingling feeling in my legs, shortly after, bursts of needles shot up my leg with every bound. The miners’ ichor was wearing off and my movements become heavier and less exact, the blurry ground now becomes more visible as I lose momentum. Before I even realized, I had tripped on a large root and was lying on my stomach, inhaling dirt with every shallow breath I made. I need to make it to the guild, I must… Warn them… and my eyes blur my vision and force themselves shut, my frantic thoughts skid to a halt and I pass out from exhaustion.
Chapter 1
(The Grave and The Unsuccessful)
I wake with a splitting headache and an aching body, wishing nothing more but to go to sleep but I’m nowhere near comfortable. I sit up slowly being certain to not make any fast movements lest I anger my headache further. I got lucky I hadn’t landed on a rock and died right here. I maneuver myself on the ground, so that a tree trunk is supporting my back. I sit there for a while attempting to gather my bearings and remember everything, but my headache makes it harder than it should be. It couldn’t’ve been a dream; I remember it all too vividly. The image of their seemingly glowing eyes burned into my retina. I remember the sound that came from inside the caravan and shivers run down my spine, angering my muscles as it does. I have a thought and remember I still had yet to see what was in the leather pouch that had fallen out of the caravan the night prior. I slip my hand into my jacket’s pocket, and I’m relieved to find that it hadn’t fallen out during my desperate dash. I slip it out of my pocket and examine the bag, nothing seems out of the ordinary at first but on the leather strip that ties the bag closed lies a rune etched into its skin. Damn it. A locking spell had been cast on it and I wouldn’t be able to get it open without a mage’s help. There just so happens to be a sorcerer in the guild that specializes in unlocking such runes, but I’d have to get to the town first. I realize that there’s a large chance that the town was attacked by whatever I saw last night. I couldn’t warn the town of what I saw, but it was also foolish to think that I would’ve been able to convince the guards that what I was saying was true anyways. Slipping the bag back into my pocket I look up in the direction the town is supposed to be, I’m only a mile or so away so any large amount of smoke would be visible from here. I stand up using the tree I was resting against as a temporary brace to get myself up. As I stand my legs give out and I must hug the tree to prevent my fall. My tripping must’ve been more violent than I first thought. I stand up by using the tree as a back brace. Reaching into my satchel I take out a light healing tonic and drink it in one movement. It tastes disgusting and leaves a bitter taste in the back of my throat, I really wish there was a way to make that stuff taste better. But it does its job quickly and the pain from the bruises on my legs fades away. I drop the empty bottle back into my satchel, and I’m able to lean away from the tree and begin walking to the town. It takes me around 45 minutes of travel until I find the sewer exit, my nose finding it before my eyes do, it lies at the bottom of a hill that doubles as the secret exit the guild uses. I squat and grab the bottom of the grate and it gives an aggressive whine in protest as I lift it open. Lowering myself down the ladder I take a moment to close the grate behind me as I climb down. The stench fills my nose completely and I gag. No matter how many times I travel down here I never get used to it. I reach the end of the ladder and begin my trek. It is a straight path until I reach under the city, and I take the 4th left turn and then an immediate right to climb up into the ladder that the Guild’s bakery is at. The baked goods we make are the best in town but not many people come by because of the rumors tied to guild activity. I climb up and knock on the trapdoor. “Aperire sesamum.” I say loudly and a familiar gruff voice sounds over the rushing water of the sewer. “It’s ‘bout time you came crawling back.” The trapdoor swings open and a bearded face peers back at me, Brodnar. He was the dwarf that had been put in charge of ordering spices and ingredients in the bakery but he mostly stayed in the basement organizing and making sure nothing unwanted came through the trapdoor. “Astrid has some choice words she’d like to share with ya’.” He says as I crawl through the opening. “She always has choice words for me.” I say with a slight smile just glad I’m back in semi-one piece.
“That’s beyond the point though I found something while I was out, and I need to consult the mage about it.”, I say.
“ou’ll be lucky if you survive talking to Astrid boy, let alone if she doesn’t take what ye found for the guild.”
“I’m doubt she could possibly be that upse-”
I’m cut off by somebody’s steps coming down the stairs. Astrid’s face becomes visible in the lantern light, and we lock eyes. Her piercing blue eyes stare into my soul, she’s older than me by a good bit, probably 6 years or so more. Her caramel hair rests gently against her shoulders, she stands with a displeased stance and folds her arms over her chest. “Come upstairs.” Her tone icicles, and it cuts into my soul. I don’t dare speak back to her in this moment, so I start up the stairs, and she follows me up as I do so, I walk up through the back room of the bakery and into the Guild’s lounge area I feel my companions’ eyes on me. Astrid walks by me and leads me into her quarters, She sits behind her wooden desk and tells me to sit down as well. Awkward silence fills the room as the sounds of the Guild ensue outside of it. “You can begin by telling me where you were in the 3 days you were gone.” 3 days? The shock must’ve been visible in my eyes because she continued.
“I’ve told you explicitly that you weren’t to play such games, especially when the guards are just a step behind us.”
“I know I understand but-”
“No! No you don’t understand, with the guards being precautious because of the rebellion, one wrong move, just one mess up and all of us get hung. You’re blinded by your own selfishness and immaturity; you act as if you were still a young boy and the worst punishment you could be given is no supper. But you’re not just a boy and every time you go out rogue you endanger everything we’ve worked for, for years. You’re lucky I don’t give you to the guards myself to protect my Guild.”
Her words are filled with spite. And it’s quiet for a while. A lump appears in my throat as I take in what she just said to me.
“I’m sorry.” I say doing my hardest not to choke on my words. The chatter that was once outside the room was now silent.
“A ‘sorry’ wouldn’t be able to fix the damage you could’ve caused to the Guild. Now get out of my sight I need time to decide what to do with you.” No more emotion could be found in her voice.
I stand up without another word and walk out of her quarters. As I exit, nobody looks me in my eyes, and I walk to the stairs and make my way to the backroom. Maybe a bath would help me clear my head. I walk through the exit under the stairs and enter the alleyway. A stray cat skitters away from me and into the shadows. I walk out into the street and the sun blinds me momentarily. My vision clears to see a busy marketplace, children run rampant trying to tag their friends. Beggars sit in wait attempting to gain enough money to afford a meal, people are bartering for different goods trying to get their goods for a cheaper price, I begin routing myself to the bath house taking turns and maneuvering through crowds. A magician garters a large crowd as they show off their trick magic. Real mages were rare and often only held one type of magic, elemental, physical, psychological, or shielding. The one the guild employed happened to have shielding magic which also meant she had power over runes. I glance away from the magician reading some young mans mind and glance over to the bath house, it is connected to an inn just by the front gates which sheltered many passersby and travelers. I turn down the road and see the familiar sign “Olde Hearthstone Inn” and I make my way inside to pay for their services. A maid greets me, takes my payment and tells me what stall I will be in. I thank her and get in my booth, throwing my clothes in a corner so they won’t get wet. This was one of the best bath houses I had ever been in despite the much travel I had done. The tub was large enough for your whole body lengthwise and the room was spacious enough for you to feel comfortable. The whole inn had been placed on top of a spring, so the water was heated perfectly. It feels amazing to scrub the dirt out of my pores, my face loosens as I rest for a while, letting the steam of the water encase me in its heat. Once I had had enough relaxation, I put all my clothes back on and exited the bath house. I think to begin walking back to the bakery but suddenly feel an overwhelming sense of dread. I look up to see a very familiar crest and a single knight with his back turned towards me.
Chapter 2
(idk its just chapter 2)
Only one of them? When I had seen them there had been much more, around 7, Maybe even 8? I couldn’t remember anymore. Regardless he stands there across the street unbothered by whatever was going on around him. What confused me the most was that nobody paid him any mind, acting as if they had already seen him around. Which I know shouldn’t be the case as knights like this rarely come through this town, because of the rebels that have taken over the roads to the west. As I examine him, I notice his eyes no longer were visibly glowing from behind his visor, and his movements seemed like a normal human. Perhaps it all was a dream, or a trick of the light. The knight lifts his helmet momentarily as he says some words to somebody he is talking to, and I’m able to take a glimpse of his face. I’m not quite able to put my finger on it but he doesn’t look natural, maybe it was the bags under his eyes, or maybe how his face looked awfully young, but it was horribly wrinkled. I feel a hand touching my shoulder and I nearly yell out of surprise. It was the maid, holding a bucket of water. “Would you mind movin’?” She says with a kind farmhand’s accent I utter an embarrassed “Sorry” and step out from in front of the doorway, she walks by dumping the bucket of dirty water on the street. Moving my attention back to the knight I notice the person he was talking to was in fact the man that I had gotten the tip from in the pub. I should question him. I begin following him trying to catch up through the dense crowds, shopkeepers are yelling that they have the best goods and at cheaper costs. I then see his balding head round a corner to a less traveled road, and I break my way through a crowd that had formed in front of an mythical creature caravan. I see the man and his body language tells me he wasn’t in the mood to be pestered “Excuse me!” I yell out to him anyways; he turns his head and his expression changes to a grimmer one once he sees it’s me. I do a quick jog to make it, so we are talking face to face. “What do you want?” he says, quizzically.
“I want to know about the knights and their load.” I say
“What is there to know? I already told you all about it when you took advantage of my drunken state.”
“What about the knights? It’s been days since they’ve been through here why is one still here?”
“That’s what I had just asked him, he said we could have a more in-depth conversation tomorrow, were going to meet and speak more.”
“If you would, I’d like to meet with you afterwards to hear what his business staying here is.”
“I don’t see why not; I know you’d probably stab me if I didn’t.” he says as he motions towards the lotus on my mask.
“Your gang of thieves should invest in more subtle identification, meet me at the pub at star rise. I’ll tell you what I find out then.” He says. I give him a nod
“Don’t gyp me, I have eyes everywhere.” I say, as a warning.
“I know.” He says, and he turns away continuing on his way.
I would normally just interrogate the knight myself but I doubt I would be able to get the information that the man would. The only question is if he is trustable, I don’t even know his name after all. I start walking back to the Bakery and notice the knight that had once been prominently gleaming had since disappeared. I bring my attention to the travelling caravan of mythical animals; it was unusual for one of such merit to come to town. The crowd had dissipated since they put away their main focal point which had been a kitsune pup; but they still had many various beasts on display, a massive spider spins itself a web, a couple fae fly in a jar, but what catches my eye the most is a gremlin a creature that was usually impossible to domesticate was instead sitting in his cage like a drunken man that had just realized he was in debt. Looking closer he looks almost defeated. Gremlins are sought after because of their ability to manifest a coin purse that can store an infinite number of valuables. I notice something in his eyes and look closer, I can hardly believe my eyes when I notice a sliver of purple in it’s eyes. I immediately catch the attention of the man that looked like the owner of the caravan. His hat is decorated with a carpet of phoenix feathers and a large dragon scale atop it as if it were a jewel. His clothes are made of shiny silk “What do you want.” He says without care.
“How much for the gremlin?” I say disregarding his tone. ijiraq.
“That ugly thing? I should be paying you to take that eyesore. All that beast does is sit there, it has a broken will, doesn’t even move.” He demonstrates as he violently shakes the cage and its body is flung limply against the cage. I put my hand firmly on his arm. “That’s enough.” I say. He grimaces as he retracts his arm and brushes off where I had touched his silky shirt. “3 gold.” He says with boldness in his tone.
“That’s hardly fair, you said yourself that it is barely useful as a parchment weight, 50 silver.” I say contradicting him.
“It’s still a creature that is hardly common, 2 gold fifty silver.”

“After you shook the cage like that I doubt it’ll even be mentally functional, 1 gold 5 silver final offer.” 

“Fine. But don’t expect any insurance when it dies.” I open my satchel and dump my coin purse contents into his palm. “That should be exact.” I say as I grab the “gremlin’s” cage. He gives me a look that tells me that he is questioning my sanity. But I pay no mind and turn away. Looking at the little creature in the cage looked like it was in horrid shape now that it had been taken away from its charmed environment. The “gremlin” was now visibly abused, bruises appear and it’s ribs now appear much more prominent than they had been before. I decided that I would take it to Tara. Tara was a druid we had saved from an opposing bandit camp a few years back, she was tall and had fair white hair that reached her collar bone. Her eyes were a piecing green and her ears came to a faint point, she had ashen skin that was painted with dim freckles. When we found her. Her clothes consisted of vines with heavy leaves that she had allowed to grow on her body. We had since switched her to a farmhand’s attire to match the smudges of dirt that were often on her face. Her round nose often looked as if she had been sniffing the dirt. We wouldn’t have had an issue with her in her vined clothing but druids were hunted for the healing properties found in their blood, as druids were treated as lesser beings many join the rebellion which had just worsened the racism they were already facing, being more treated as a game animal rather than a thinking being. They more related themselves to the ogres, trolls, seafolk, and beasts than they did the oppressive humans. Tara’s own village had been raided by the king’s knights, and in her running had run directly into a bandit trap, then we found the bandit camp on a scouting trip and the rest is history. Tara didn’t usually speak unless she was spoken to which made our conversations far and few. The times we did converse however, she was nothing but kind to me despite what humans had done to her. I looked up to her in a way. Hell, I was even taught by my father that druids were savages and should be exterminated from this world. She simply had an unfathomable ability to forgive or perhaps not to forgive but to separate those who hurt her from those that rescued her. I continue walking through the street, using my body to cut the crowds and towing the cage behind me. I no longer had money on me so I wasn’t tempted by the treats being advertised that I would usually indulge in. Children stop their games to point and gawk at the “gremlin” that now lies on its back eyes closed. Its shallow breaths are exaggerated by the lack of body fat. I finally reach a spot where I can see the bakery. I make sure to not swing my arm, so the gremlin doesn’t get flung against the cage anymore than it already had. I open the front door and a fresh sent of goods fills my nose. Farren is working the oven, his back turned to me he’s currently pulling some muffins out of the oven. He’s easily 3x my own stature paired with a well-kept flowing beard, which he would often have intricately decorated with flowers and braids by the orphaned children he would visit on his time off. I step in fully and notice the obviously undersized apron he had tied on. It is thoroughly covered with various ingredients. He stoops down to reach the top rack of the stone oven and he places the muffins on a cooling rack. He turns as I take another step to see who had entered and the joy is visible in his eyes as he sees that it’s me. “Ryland! I was beginning to believe that Astrid had gotten rid of you!” He says this as he opens his arms as if trying to hug me over the counter but then turns to reach for a muffin. “Here let me get you situated; I want you to tell me what it was this time.” He says whilst plating a muffin, jam, and fresh orange juice for me. I place the cage on the counter “Starting off I found this when I was out.” I say, lifting the cage to he could see the creature inside.
“A gremlin? I suppose it does look quite malnourished.” Farren says.
“Not a gremlin entirely, I don’t believe the man that sold it to me knew what it was either.”
“And what do you think it is?”
“I’m not sure but I’m certain it isn’t just a gremlin.”
“Here I’ll take care of the miserable thing.” Farren grabs the cage over the counter and moving it to the back counter and makes a bowl of honey mixed with water to insert it inside the cage for it.
“Besides the ‘gremlin’ though, I received a tip from a fellow in a pub that had ended as a failure.” I take a bite of jam and muffin and chase it with some orange juice, I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I had food in my stomach. I guess I haven’t eaten in 3 days. In fact before I say another word to Farren I devour the muffin he had given me and 2 more before He stops me. “Cmon now you can eat some more once I hear about the details.” He says with a laugh. “Well, there’s not much to tell. It was simply false information.”
Hey! Thanks for reading (or scrolling down to the bottom) here are my goals for the plot. The item in the satchel is going to be a ring, that once put on turns the user into a vampire. The rebels sent a convoy of ghouls to the capitol, the convoy is carrying a load of rats with a version of the black plague that had been altered to turn the infected people into zombies. Once it reaches the capitol it will spread to all adjacent cities, and so the apocalypse begins. In the future of the story the protag will meet a vampire chick in the apocalypse and protag will have to choose between her and Astrid (keeping his humanity or completely becoming a vampire) and he will have to drink the blood of other survivors to not only stay alive but also feed his vampiric abilities.
I realllly hate the pacing I feel like I'm going so slow, and I feel like I'm going in too much details for characters im not going to keep in the story. I need a tonn of help I notice the ametureness in the writing but I dont know how to fix it entirely.
Thoughts? Ideas? what do you hate what do you love?
edit1: I have no clue what the slider bar is or how it got there

Fellow Daoists, welcome to Round 2 of Heaven Dao's Tournament.
I asked people to send their juniors to fight here. The fights are decided by Heaven Dao (Gemini 1.5 AI). Without further ado, here is the first fight!
The first fight of Round 2 crackled with an energy that crossed the boundaries between life and death. In one corner stood Yang Hua, a disciple of the Radiant Heaven Sect, shrouded in the Dao of Death. Her spectral legions, including the thirteen Ghost Generals, materialized with a bone-chilling moan. Their combined might could shatter a lower realm, and their loyalty was undeniable. Opposing her was Zhang Li, a mortal cultivator with an unorthodox edge. Enlightenment in the Dao of Science, a rarity in this world, hummed around him. He possessed an otherworldly confidence, as if defying the very limitations of his cultivation level. The gong resonated, and Yang Hua launched into an assault. Her Myriad Ghost Chain, an artifact capable of harming a cultivator's Dao palace, snaked towards Zhang Li. He sidestepped with surprising agility, the aura of an immortal flickering around him for a brief moment. From his back, strange contraptions whirred to life. Railguns, powered by his understanding of science, unleashed bolts of energy that ripped through the battlefield. The spectral warriors faltered under the barrage, their forms flickering. Yang Hua, unfazed, unleashed her ultimate technique. The thirteen Ghost Generals combined their might, their ghostly energy coalescing into a devastating attack aimed at shattering Zhang Li's very being. But Zhang Li, with a smirk, raised a device that pulsed with an unknown energy. A blinding light erupted, momentarily pushing back even the forces of death. The crowd watched in stunned silence. The battle continued, defying expectations. Yang Hua, her ghostly legion momentarily weakened, pressed on. Her mastery over deathly poisons filled the air, forcing Zhang Li to activate filtration systems within his makeshift armor. Yet, the sheer number of her spectral warriors proved overwhelming. Zhang Li, his unorthodox arsenal depleted, resorted to desperate tactics. He lunged towards Yang Hua, hoping to grapple her and end the fight quickly. Yang Hua, anticipating this, unleashed a wave of debilitating qi. Zhang Li, caught off guard, fell to his knees, his bravado fading. Seizing her victory, Yang Hua prepared the final blow. But before she could deliver it, a booming voice resonated throughout the arena. The Heaven Dao, the impartial judge of the tournament, intervened. "Enough!" the voice echoed. "Zhang Li has been incapacitated. Yang Hua is the victor." Disappointment flickered across Yang Hua's face, but she yielded. The crowd erupted in cheers, the unorthodox duel sparking heated discussions. The potential of a mortal, defying the boundaries of cultivation, had left an undeniable mark.
Yang Hua advances. She will fight Yao Wen in the third round. Yao Wen lost in the first round but easily won the losers' bracket, getting a second chance to win.
Second fight:
Round 2, Fight 2: Hu Menyan vs. Fang Yen The arena trembled as Hu Menyan, the Venerable Trash Panda of the Trash Sect, sauntered in, dragging his overflowing Golden Trashbag behind him. Across from him stood Fang Yen, the rising star of the Myriad Waterfall Sect, his eyes narrowed in concentration. Fang Yen struck first, unleashing his signature technique, the Reflecting Mist. The arena shimmered, filled with illusory duplicates of the young cultivator. Yet, Hu Menyan remained unfazed. With a nonchalant flick of his wrist, he sent a wave of shimmering trash rippling outwards from his Golden Trashbag. The mist churned and dissipated, revealing the true Fang Yen. Undeterred, Fang Yen unleashed his nascent technique, the Surging Wave. A torrent of spiritual energy surged towards Hu Menyan, threatening to drown him. But the Venerable Trash Panda merely chuckled. He tossed a single, crumpled banana peel into the wave. The peel multiplied instantaneously, blanketing the arena in a slippery, yellow mess. The Surging Wave sputtered and fizzled out, unable to maintain its momentum on the slick surface. Frustration contorted Fang Yen's face. He launched himself into an aerial assault, his fists imbued with water qi. Hu Menyan, however, remained grounded. He deftly weaved through Fang Yen's strikes, the Golden Trashbag acting as an extension of himself, swatting away blows and tripping the young cultivator with strategically placed empty cans. The tide of the battle began to turn. Fang Yen, fueled by mounting anger, grew sloppy. Hu Menyan seized the opportunity. With a swift kick, he sent a half-eaten apple core flying. It struck Fang Yen squarely in the forehead, momentarily stunning him. In that instant, Hu Menyan lunged, slamming his Golden Trashbag into Fang Yen's chest. A blinding flash erupted as a dozen rotten eggs hidden within the bag exploded. Fang Yen, overpowered by the stench and the barrage of yolk, gagged and sputtered. He crumpled to the ground, defeated. The crowd erupted in cheers, a mixture of amusement and awe. The Venerable Trash Panda had won again, his unorthodox techniques proving once more to be surprisingly effective.
Hu Menyan advances.
Third fight: The final fight of Round 2 promised an intriguing clash between two cultivators with vastly different approaches to combat. Han Moyu, the unorthodox alchemist, faced Bhiyu Rock-tumbler, the versatile support specialist from the Houtian Sect. Han Moyu, brimming with youthful arrogance, launched the first attack. He unleashed a barrage of pills, a bewildering mix of colors and effects. Bhiyu, ever the pragmatist, activated her Gazebo Reification Defense, forming a shimmering barrier that intercepted the pills mid-air. Some burst harmlessly, releasing plumes of colored smoke that stung Bhiyu's eyes momentarily. Others exploded with a sticky green goo that threatened to immobilize her. Bhiyu, ever resourceful, countered by forming a construct of earth within the barrier, effectively a giant fan that blew away the smoke and dispelled the goo. She then launched into a series of intricate hand gestures, activating the Vast Tracts of Land Forestation technique. The arena floor rumbled as thick vines erupted from the ground, snaking towards Han Moyu. The alchemist, not one for close combat, launched himself into the air with a burst of wind qi. However, Bhiyu anticipated this move. With a flick of her wrist, she sent a volley of Yellow Dragon Imperial Ground Orbital Bullets soaring after him. The drones swarmed around Han Moyu, firing beams of fire and earth qi that forced him to dodge erratically. Frustrated, Han Moyu decided to change tactics. He hurled a vial filled with a swirling crimson liquid – his signature love potion. Bhiyu, recognizing the danger, channeled her Yin Earth Physique, erecting a barrier of pure defensive energy that negated the aphrodisiac's effect. The tide was beginning to turn in Bhiyu's favor. She manipulated the vines with practiced ease, weaving them into a cage around Han Moyu. The alchemist, desperate, unleashed his most potent weapon – a pill containing a fragment of the Nine Mysterious Turns Fire. The pill exploded in a miniature inferno, momentarily overwhelming Bhiyu's defenses. Han Moyu seized this opportunity to escape the grasp of the vines. He coughed, smoke billowing from his robes, but a triumphant grin spread across his face. However, his victory cry was cut short. Bhiyu, singed but undeterred, had used the brief respite to activate a hidden formation within the Gazebo Reification Defense. A soft blue light enveloped the arena, draining the spiritual qi from everything within its boundaries. Han Moyu, his face draining of color, looked around in panic. His frantic attempts to conjure another pill were in vain – his reserves of spiritual qi were rapidly dwindling. With a final, choked gasp, he crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Bhiyu deactivated the formation and dispelled the Gazebo Reification Defense. She stood panting, her robes scorched and her face smudged with grime, but victorious nonetheless. The crowd erupted in cheers, marveling at the unorthodox support cultivator who had triumphed through tactical brilliance and unwavering resolve.
Hu Menyan will fight Bhiyu Rock-tumbler in the third round.
Thank you all for attending my tournament.

(all airtimes E.S.T.)
WED MAY 01
(1:15AM) The Children's Hour (1961/1h 47m/Drama/William Wyler)
(3:15AM) The Apartment (1960/2h 5m/Comedy/Billy Wilder)
(6:00AM) From the Earth to the Moon (1958/1h 40m/Science-Fiction/Byron Haskin)
(7:45AM) The Snow Devils (1965/1h 18m/HorroAntonio Margheriti)
(9:30AM) The Green Slime (1969/1h 30m/HorroKinji Fukasaku)
(11:15AM) Moon Zero Two (1969/1h 40m/Roy Ward Baker)
(1:15PM) Countdown (1968/1h 41m/Drama/Robert Altman)
(3:00PM) Toward the Unknown (1956/1h 55m/Drama/Mervyn Le Roy)
(5:00PM) Plan 9 from Outer Space (1959/1h 19m/HorroEdward D. Wood, Jr.)
(6:30PM) The Thing from Another World (1951/1h 27m/HorroChristian Nyby)
(8:00PM) Laura (1944/1h 28m/Film-NoiOtto Preminger)
(9:45PM) Rebecca (1940/1h 55m/Suspense/Alfred Hitchcock)
THU MAY 02
(12:15AM) Marnie (1964/2h 10m/Suspense/Alfred Hitchcock)
(2:45AM) Agatha (1979/1h 38m/Mystery/Michael Apted)
(4:30AM) Penelope (1966/1h 37m/Comedy/Arthur Hiller)
(6:30AM) The Angry Hills (1959/1h 45m/Suspense/Robert Aldrich)
(8:30AM) The Pride and the Passion (1957/2h 12m/Adventure/Stanley Kramer)
(11:00AM) Sweet November (1968/1h 54m/Romance/Robert Ellis Miller)
(1:00PM) My Fair Lady (1964/2h 50m/Musical/George Cukor)
(4:00PM) I Want To Live! (1958/2h 0m/Drama/Robert Wise)
(6:15PM) The Defiant Ones (1958/1h 37m/Drama/Stanley Kramer)
(8:00PM) No Greater Glory (1934/1h 57m/Drama/Frank Borzage)
(9:00PM) Man’s Castle (1933/1h 6m/Romance/Frank Borzage
(11:00PM) Secrets (1933/1h 30m/Western/Frank Borzage)
FRI MAY 03
(12:30AM) A Farewell to Arms (1932/1h 18m/Romance/Frank Borzage)
(2:15AM) Stranded (1935/1h 16m/Romance/Frank Borzage)
(3:30AM) **Desire (1963/1h 31m/Romance/Frank Borzage)
(5:15AM) The Circle (1925/1h 0m/Silent/Frank Borzage)
(6:30AM) The Half Naked Truth (1933/1h 7m/Comedy/Gregory La Cava)
(7:45AM) Texas Carnival (1951/1h 17m/Comedy/Charles Walters)
(9:15AM) Maisie Was a Lady (1941/1h 19m/Comedy/Edwin L. Marin)
(10:45AM) Flamingo Road (1949/1h 34m/Drama/Michael Curtiz)
(12:30PM) The Unholy Three (1930/1h 12m/Crime/Jack Conway)
(1:45PM) The Mind Reader (1933/1h 9m/Drama/DirectoRoy Del Ruth)
(3:00PM) Lili (1953/1h 21m/Musical/Charles Walters)
(4:30PM) The Wagons Roll At Night (1941/1h 24m/Drama/Ray Enright)
(6:00PM) Carnival Story (1954/1h 35m/Drama/Kurt Neumann)
(8:00PM) Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid (1982/1h 28m/Comedy/Carl Reiner)
(10:00PM) Dirty Rotten Scoundrels (1988/1h 50m/Comedy/Frank Oz)
SAT MAY 04
(12:00AM) Father of the Bride (1991/1h 45m/Comedy/Charles Shyer)
(2:00AM) Pennies From Heaven (1981/1h 47m/Musical/Herbert Ross)
(4:00AM) Robin and the 7 Hoods (1964/2h 3m/Musical/Gordon Douglas)
(6:15AM) Maya (1966/1h 31m/Adventure/John Berry)
(8:00AM) MGM CARTOONS: Grin and Share It (1957/0h 6m/Comedy/Michael Lah)
(8:07AM) Believe It or Not #10 (1932/0h 7m/Short/?)
(8:15AM) Glimpses of Peru (1937/0h 8m/Short/?)
(8:24AM) The Walking Dead (1936/1h 6m/HorroMichael Curtiz)
(9:30AM) Brush Roper (1955/0h 30mWestern/Stuart Heisler)
(10:00AM) POPEYE: Never Kick a Woman (1933/0h 6m/Animation/Dave Fleischer)
(10:07AM) The Falcon Takes Over (1942/1h 3m/Mystery/Irving Reis)
(11:30AM) Buzzin' Around (1933/0h 20m/Comedy/Alfred J. Goulding)
(12:00PM) Tonight and Every Night (1945/1h 32m/Musical/Victor Saville)
(1:45PM) Angels in the Outfield (1951/1h 42m/Drama/Clarence Brown)
(3:45PM) The Liquidator (1966/1h 44m/Suspense/Jack Cardiff)
(5:45PM) Billy Budd (1962/1h 52m/Drama/Peter Ustinov)
(8:00PM) A Face in the Crowd (1957/2h 6m/Drama/Elia Kazan)
(10:15PM) Ace In The Hole (1951/1h 59m/Drama/Billy Wilder)
SUN MAY 05
(12:15AM) Dark Passage (1947/1h 46m/Film-NoiDelmer Daves)
(2:15AM) Yentl (1983/2h 14m/Musical/Barbra Streisand)
(4:30AM) Portnoy's Complaint (1972/1h 41m/Drama/Ernest Lehman)
(6:15AM) Harlan County, USA (1976/1h 43m/Documentary/Barbara Kopple)
(8:15AM) Black Fury (1935/1h 32m/Drama/Michael Curtiz)
(10:00AM) Dark Passage (1947/1h 46m/Film-NoiDelmer Daves)
(12:00PM) Random Harvest (1942/2h 4m/Romance/Mervyn Le Roy)
(2:30PM) Raintree County (1957/3h 7m/Drama/Edward Dmytryk)
(5:30PM) Gypsy (1962/2h 29m/Musical/Mervyn Le Roy)
(8:00PM) The Big Trail (1930/1h 50m/Western/Raoul Walsh)
(10:15PM) White Heat (1949/1h 54m/Crime/Raoul Walsh)
MON MAY 06
(12:15AM) The First Auto (1927/1h 15m/Silent/Roy Del Ruth)
(2:00AM) A River Called Titas (1973/2h 39m/Drama/Ritwik Ghatak)
(5:00AM) Busses Roar (1942/0h 58m/Drama/D. Ross Lederman)
(6:00AM) I Loved a Woman (1933/1h 30m/Drama/Alfred E. Green)
(7:45AM) The Keyhole (1933./1h 9m/Drama/Michael Curtiz)
(9:00AM) Age of Indiscretion (1935/1h 18m/Drama/Edward Ludwig)
(10:30AM) My Past (1931/1h 23m/Romance/Roy Del Ruth)
(11:45AM) Mannequin (1938/1h 35m/Romance/Lew Borzage)
(1:30PM) The Common Law (1932/1h 15m/Drama/Paul L. Stein)
(3:00PM) His Brother's Wife (1936/1h 30m/Romance/W. S. Van Dyke)
(4:30PM) Man On Fire (1957/1h 35m/Drama/Ranald Macdougall)
(6:15PM) One is a Lonely Number (1972/1h 37m/Drama/Mel Stuart)
(8:00PM) The Cheat (1915/0h42m/Silent/Cecil B. De Mille )
(9:15PM) The Dragon Painter (1919/0h 53m/Silent/William Worthington)
(10:15PM) The Tong Man (1919/0h 58m/Crime/William Worthington)
(11:30PM) Yellowface: Asian Whitewashing and Racism in Hollywood (2019/0h 54m/Documentary/Clara Kuperberg and Julia Kuperberg)
TUE MAY 07
(12:30AM) China Sky (1945/1h 18m/WaRay Enright)
(2:00AM) Sayonara (1957/2h 27m/Romance/Joshua Logan)
(6:00AM) Bed of Roses (1933/1h 7m/Drama/Gregory Lacava)
(7:15AM) Honeysuckle Rose (1980/1h 59m/Drama/Jerry Schatzberg)
(9:30AM) The Subject Was Roses (1968/1h 47m/Drama/Ulu Grosbard)
(11:30AM) The Blue Gardenia (1953/1h 30m/Suspense/Fritz Lang)
(1:00PM) Inside Daisy Clover (1965/2h 8m/Drama/Robert Mulligan)
(3:15PM) Brooklyn Orchid (1942/0h 50m/Comedy/Kurt Neumann)
(4:15PM) Brother Orchid (1940/1h 30m/Crime/Lloyd Bacon)
(6:00PM) Black Narcissus (1947/1h 39m/Drama/Michael Powell)
(8:00PM) North by Northwest (1959/2h 16m/Suspense/Alfred Hitchcock)
(10:30PM) A Matter of Life and Death (1947/1h 44m/Romance/Michael Powell)
WED MAY 08
(12:30AM) Forbidden Planet (1956/1h 38m/Science-Fiction/Fred Mcleod Wilcox)
(2:15AM) Citizen Kane (1941/1h 59m/Drama/Orson Welles)
(4:30AM) The Fountainhead (1949/1h 54m/Drama/King Vidor)
(6:30AM) The Shoes of the Fisherman (1968/2h 42m/Drama/Michael Anderson)
(9:30AM) Lone Star (1952/1h 34m/Western/Vincent Sherman)
(11:30AM) Rio Bravo (1959/2h 21m/Western/Howard Hawks)
(2:00PM) The Westerner (1940/1h 40m/Western/William Wyler)
(4:00PM) The Life and Times of Judge Roy Bean (1972/2h 0m/Western/John Huston)
(6:15PM) A Big Hand for the Little Lady (1966/1h 35m/Western/Fielder Cook)
(8:00PM) Shane (1953/1h 58m/Western/George Stevens)
(10:15PM) Hud (1963/1h 52m/Western/Martin Ritt)
THU MAY 09
(12:15AM) Spartacus (1960/3h 2m/Drama/Stanley Kubrick)
(3:45AM) Heidi (1937/1h 28m/Drama/Allan Dwan)
(5:30AM) Kim (1951/1h 53m/Adventure/Victor Saville)
(7:30AM) Dance, Fools, Dance (1931/1h 21m/Drama/Harry Beaumont)
(9:00AM) Possessed (1931/1h 12m/Romance/Clarence Brown)
(10:30AM) Laughing Sinners (1931/1h 11m/Romance/Harry Beaumont)
(11:45AM) Dancing Lady (1933/1h 22m/Musical/Robert Z. Leonard)
(1:30PM) Forsaking All Others (1934/1h 24m/Romance/W. S. Van Dyke)
(3:00PM) Chained (1934/1h 11m/Romance/Clarence Brown)
(4:30PM) Love on the Run (1936/1h 20m/Romance/W. S. Van Dyke)
(6:00PM) Boom Town (1940/1h 56m/Adventure/Jack Conway)
(8:00PM) History Is Made at Night (1937/1h 37m/Romance/Frank Borzage)
(10:00PM) Smilin' Through (1941/1h 40m/Romance/Frank Borzage)
FRI MAY 10
(12:00AM) Seven Sweethearts (1942/1h 38m/Musical/Frank Borzage)
(1:45AM) Flirtation Walk (1934/1h 37m/Musical/Frank Borzage)
(3:30AM) Shipmates Forever (1935/1h 49m/Musical/Frank Borzage)
(5:30AM) Hearts Divided (1936/1h 27m/Romance/Frank Borzage)
(7:00AM) No Other Woman (1933/0h 56m/Drama/J. Walter Ruben)
(8:00AM) Little Lord Fauntleroy (1936/1h 38m/Drama/John Cromwell)
(10:00AM) The Prisoner of Zenda (1937/1h 41m/Adventure/John Cromwell)
(12:00PM) Viva Villa! (1934/1h 55m/Western/Jack Conway)
(2:00PM) A Star Is Born (1937/1h 51m/Romance/William A. Wellman)
(4:00PM) Reckless (1935/1h 36m/Romance/Victor Fleming)
(5:45PM) A Tale of Two Cities (1935/2h/Drama/Jack Conway)
(8:00PM) Rebel Without a Cause (1955/1h 51m/Drama/Nicholas Ray)
(10:00PM) The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner (1962/1h 44m/Drama/Tony Richardson)
SAT MAY 11
(12:00AM) Rumble Fish (1983/1h 34m/Action/Francis Ford Coppola)
(2:00AM) Wild Boys of the Road (1933/1h 17m/Drama/William A. Wellman(
(3:30AM) Crime School (1938/1h 26m/Drama/Lewis Seiler)
(5:00AM) Haunted Gold (1932/58m/Western/Mack V. Wright)
(6:00AM) Jungle Book (1942/1h 49m/Adventure/Zoltan Korda)
(8:00AM) MGM CARTOONS: Little Buck Cheeser (1937/0h 7m/Animation/Rudolf Ising)
(8:08AM) Believe It or Not #11 (1932/0h 7m/Documentary/?)
(8:16AM) India on Parade (1937/9m/Short/?)
(8:26AM) Attack of the 50 Foot Woman (1958/1h 5m/HorroNathan Hertz)
(9:30AM) Tom and Jerry (1955/0h 30m/Drama/Leo McCarey)
(10:00AM) POPEYE: Little Swee' Pea (1936/0h 7m/Animation/Dave Fleischer)
(10:08AM) The Falcon's Brother (1942/1h 3m/Mystery/Stanley Logan)
(11:30AM) Forbidden Passage (1941/0h 20m/Short/Fred Zinnemann)
(12:00PM) Sweet Charity (1969/2h 29m/Musical/Bob Fosse)
(2:45PM) Point Blank (1967/1h 32m/Crime/John Boorman)
(4:30PM) Roadblock (1951/1h 13m/Film-NoiHarold Daniels)
(6:00PM) American Graffiti (1973/1h 49m/Comedy/George Lucas)
(8:00PM) The Fisher King (1991/2h 17m/Dramedy/Terry Gilliam)
(10:30PM) Synecdoche, New York (2008/2h 4m/Dramedy/Charlie Kaufman)
SUN MAY 12
(12:45AM) Follow Me Quietly (1949/0h 59m/Film-NoiRichard O. Fleischer)
(2:15AM) Murder, She Said (1961/1h 26m/Mystery/George Pollock)
(4:00AM) Murder at the Gallop (1963/1h 21m/Mystery/George Pollock)
(5:30AM) MGM Parade Show #11 (1955/0h 25m/Documentary/?)
(6:00AM) Three Daring Daughters (1948/1h 55m/Musical/Fred M. Wilcox)
(8:00AM) Please Don't Eat the Daisies (1960/1h 51m/Comedy/Charles Walters)
(10:00AM) Follow Me Quietly (1949/0h 59m/Film-NoiRichard O. Fleischer)
(11:15AM) So Big (1953/1h 41m/Romance/Robert Wise)
(1:15PM) Pocketful of Miracles (1961/2h 16m/Comedy/Frank Capra)
(3:45PM) Mildred Pierce (1945/1h 53m/Drama/Michael Curtiz)
(5:45PM) Imitation of Life (1959/2h 5m/Romance/Douglas Sirk)
(8:00PM) I Remember Mama (1948/2h 14m/Drama/George Stevens)
(10:30PM) Yours, Mine, and Ours (1968/1h 51m/Comedy/Melville Shavelson)
MON MAY 13
(12:30AM) The Merry Widow (1925/1h 51m/Silent/Erich Von Stroheim)
(3:00AM) Unknown Pleasures (2002/1h 52m/Comedy/Jia Zhang-ke)
(5:00AM) The World (2004/2h 19m/Adventure/Jia Zhang-ke)
(7:30AM) Night Flight (1933/1h 24m/Drama/Clarence Brown)
(9:00AM) Sadie McKee (1934/1h 30m/Romance/Clarence Brown)
(10:45AM) Song of Love (1947/1h 59m/Western/Clarence Brown)
(12:45PM) Intruder in the Dust (1949/1h 29m/Drama/Clarence Brown)
(2:15PM) White Cliffs Of Dover (1944/2h 6m/Romance/Clarence Brown)
(4:30PM) Edison, the Man (1940/1h 47m/Drama/Clarence Brown)
(6:30PM) Wife Vs. Secretary (1936/1h 28m/Romance/Clarence Brown)
(8:00PM) Tokyo Joe (1949/1h 28m/Suspense/Stuart Heisler)
(9:45PM) The Geisha Boy (1958/1h 38m/Comedy/Frank Tashlin)
(11:45PM) Daughter of the Dragon (1931/1h 10m/Crime/Lloyd Corrigan)
TUE MAY 14
(1:00AM) Daughter of Shanghai (1937/1h 3m/Crime/Robert Florey)
(2:15AM) Escapade in Japan (1957/1h 33m/Adventure/Arthur Lubin)
(4:00AM) Bridge to the Sun (1961/1h 52m/Drama/Etienne Périer)
(6:00AM) Key Largo (1948/1h 41m/Crime/John Huston)
(8:00AM) Wind Across the Everglades (1958/1h 33m/Adventure/Nicholas Ray)
(9:45AM) Sweet Bird of Youth (1962/2h 0m/Drama/Richard Brooks)
(12:00PM) Bright Road (1953/1h 9m/Drama/Gerald Mayer)
(1:15PM) Good-Bye, My Lady (1956/1h 35m/Drama/William A. Wellman)
(3:00PM) Louisiana Story (1948/1h 17m/Documentary/Robert Flaherty)
(4:30PM) Cry of the Hunted (1953/1h 20m/Drama/Joseph H. Lewis)
(6:00PM) The Drowning Pool (1975/1h 46m/Mystery/Stuart Rosenberg)
(8:00PM) Rancho Notorious (1952/1h 29m/Western/Fritz Lang)
(9:45PM) Beach Party (1963/1h 41m/Musical/William Asher)
(11:30PM) Breathless (1983/1h 40m/Drama/Jim McBride)
WED MAY 15
(1:30AM) Two Weeks in Another Town (1962/1h 47m/Drama/Vincente Minnelli)
(3:30AM) Querelle (1982/1h 48m/Drama/Rainer Werner Fassbinder)
(5:30AM) The Boy Friend (1971/1h 48m/Musical/Ken Russell)
(7:30AM) Design for Scandal (1941/1h 25m/Romance/Norman Taurog)
(9:00AM) Live, Love and Learn (1937/1h 18m/Comedy/Geo. Fitzmaurice)
(10:30AM) The Kid from Kokomo (1939/1h 35m/Comedy/Lewis Seiler)
(12:15PM) Tender Comrade (1943/1h 42m/Drama/Edward Dmytryk)
(2:15PM) A Guy Named Joe (1943/2h 0m/Romance/Victor Fleming)
(4:30PM) We Who Are Young (1940/1h 19m/Romance/Harold S. Bucquet)
(6:00PM) Our Vines Have Tender Grapes (1945/1h 45m/Drama/Roy Rowland)
(8:00PM) Gigi (1958/1h 56m/Musical/Vincente Minnelli)
(10:15PM) Lili (1953/1h 21m/Musical/Charles Walters)
THU MAY 16
(12:00AM) Oliver! (1968/2h 33m/Musical/Carol Reed)
(2:45AM) Roberta (1935/1h 25m/Musical/William A. Seiter)
(4:45AM) Mame (1974/2h 12m/Musical/Gene Saks)
(7:15AM) The Pitfall (1948/1h 24m/Film-NoiAndre De Toth)
(9:00AM) The Set-Up (1949/1h 12m/Drama/Robert Wise)
(10:15AM) The Maltese Falcon (1941/1h 40m/Mystery/John Huston)
(12:00PM) Lady in the Lake (1947/1h 43m/Mystery/Robert Montgomery)
(2:00PM) They Live by Night (1948/1h 35m/Crime/Nicholas Ray)
(4:00PM) The Strange Love of Martha Ivers (1946/1h 56m/Film-NoiLewis Milestone)
(6:00PM) The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946/1h 51m/Film-NoiTay Garnett)
(8:00PM) The Mortal Storm (1940/1h 40m/Drama/Frank Borzage)
(10:00PM) Three Comrades (1938/1h 40m/Romance/Frank Borzage)
FRI MAY 17
(12:00AM) Flight Command (1940/1h 50m/Adventure/Frank Borzage)
(2:15AM) The Spanish Main (1945/1h 40m/Adventure/Frank Borzage)
(4:15AM) Strange Cargo (1940/1h 45m/Drama/Frank Borzage)
(6:15AM) The Shining Hour (1938/1h 20m/Drama/Frank Borzage)
(7:45AM) One of Our Spies Is Missing (1966/1h 0m/Adventure/E. Darrell Hallenbeck)
(9:30AM) Where the Spies Are (1965/1h 53m/Comedy/Val Guest)
(11:30AM) The Prize (1963/2h 16m/Mystery/Mark Robson)
(2:00PM) The Venetian Affair (1967/1h 32m//Mystery/Jerry Thorpe)
(3:45PM) How to Steal the World (1968/1h 26m/Adventure/Sutton Roley)
(5:15PM) 36 Hours (1964/1h 55m/WaGeorge Seaton)
(7:15PM) MGM Parade Show #11 (1955/0h 25m/Documentary/?)
(8:00PM) Separate But Equal (1991/3h 10m/History/?)
(11:30PM) The Murder of Mary Phagan (1988/4h 11m/Drama/?)
SAT MAY 18
(4:00AM) Freedom on My Mind (1994/1h 45m/Documentary/Connie Field)
(6:00AM) Gunga Din (1939/1h 57m/Adventure/George Stevens)
(8:00AM) MGM CARTOONS: Old Smokey (1938/0h 7m/Animation/William Hanna)
(8:08AM) Believe It or Not #12 (1932/0h 8m/Documentary/?)
(8:17AM) Natural Wonders of the West (1938/0h 8m/Documentary/James H Smith)
(8:27AM) Devil's Island (1940/1h 2m/Drama/William Clemens)
(9:30AM) Rookie Of The Year (1955/Comedy/John Ford)
(10:00AM) POPEYE: Hold the Wire (1933/0h 6m/Animation/Dave Fleisher)
(10:07AM) Falcon in Danger (1943/1h 13m/Mystery/William Clemens)
(11:30AM) The Song of Fame (1934/0h 21m/Short/Joseph Henabery)
(12:00PM) The Great Ziegfeld (1936/3h 0m/Musical/Robert Z. Leonard)
(3:15PM) The FBI Story (1959/2h 29m/Crime/Mervyn Le Roy)
(6:00PM) Cahill, U.S. Marshal (1973/1h 43m/Western/Andrew V. McLaglen)
(8:00PM) Jailhouse Rock (1957/1h 36m/Musical/Richard Thorpe)
(10:00PM) Forty Guns (1957/1h 18m/Western/Samuel Fuller)
SUN MAY 19
(12:00AM) Take Aim at the Police Van (1960/1h 19m/Film-NoiSeijun Suzuki)
(1:45AM) The Cowboys (1972/8m/Western/Mark Rydell)
(4:00AM) Chisum (1970/1h 50m/Western/Andrew V. McLaglen)
(6:00AM) Behind Office Doors (1931/1h 26m/Drama/Melville Brown)
(7:30AM) The Boss Didn't Say Good Morning (1937/10m/Short/Jacques Tourneur)
(8:00AM) Executive Suite (1954/1h 44m/Drama/Robert Wise)
(10:00AM) Take Aim at the Police Van (1960/1h 19m/Film-NoiSeijun Suzuki)
(11:45AM) The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone (1961/1h 44m/Drama/José Quintero)
(1:45PM) Sex and the Single Girl (1964/1h 54m/Comedy/Richard Quine)
(3:45PM) Adam's Rib (1949/1h 41m/Comedy/George Cukor)
(5:45PM) Some Like It Hot (1959/2h 0m/Comedy/Billy Wilder)
(8:00PM) The Muppets Take Manhattan (1984/1h 34m/Musical/Frank Oz)
(10:00PM) Little Shop of Horrors (1986/1h 28m/Musical/Frank Oz)
MON MAY 20
(12:00AM) The Kiss (1929/50m/Silent/Jacques Feyder)
(12:50AM) Love (1927/1h 22m/Silent/Edmund Goulding)
(2:30AM) No End (1985/1h 44m/Drama/Krzysztof Kieslowski)
(4:30AM) Blind Chance (1981/2h 2m/Drama/Krzysztof Kieslowski)
(6:45AM) Athena (1954/1h 36m/Musical/Richard Thorpe)
(8:30AM) The Last Days of Pompeii (1935/1h 36m/Drama/Ernest B. Schoedsack)
(10:15AM) The Slave (1962/1h 32m/Adventure/Sergio Corbucci)
(12:15PM) Land of the Pharaohs (1955/1h 46m/Adventure/Howard Hawks)
(2:15PM) The Silver Chalice (1954/2h 24m/Drama//Victor Saville)
(4:45PM) Quo Vadis (1951/2h 51m/Drama/Mervyn Le Roy)
(8:00PM) House of Bamboo (1955/1h 42m/Crime/Samuel Fuller
(10:00PM) Green Mansions (1959/1h 44m/Romance/Mel Ferrer)
TUE MAY 21
(12:00AM) Hell to Eternity (1960/2h 12m/WaPhil Karlson)
(2:30AM) Grand Prix (1966/2h 59m/Adventure/John Frankenheimer)
(6:00AM) Mr. Chump (1938/1h 1m/Comedy/William Clemens)
(7:15AM) Mr. Hex (1946/1h 3m/Comedy/William Beaudine)
(8:30AM) Mr. Dodd Takes the Air (1937/1h 26m/Musical/Alfred E. Green)
(10:00AM) Mr. Doodle Kicks Off (1938/1h 17m/Comedy/Leslie Goodwins)
(11:30AM) Mr. Imperium (1951/1h 27m/Romance/Don Hartman)
(1:00PM) Mr. And Mrs. North (1941/1h 7m/Mystery/Robert B. Sinclair)
(2:15PM) Mr. Skeffington (1945/2h 7m/Drama/Vincent Sherman)
(4:45PM) Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House (1948/1h 34m/Comedy/H. C. Potter)
(6:30PM) Mister Cinderella (1936/1h 15m/Comedy/Edward Sedgwick)
(8:00PM) The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T (1953/1h 28m/Musical/Roy Rowland)
(9:45PM) The Red Shoes (1948/2h 14m/Romance/Michael Powell)
WED MAY 22
(12:15AM) Donkey Skin (1970/1h 30m/Drama/Jacques Demy)
(2:00AM) The Glass Slipper (1955/1h 34m/Musical/Charles Walters)
(3:45AM) Brigadoon (19541h 48m/Musical/Vincente Minnelli)
(5:45AM) Thief of Bagdad (1940/1h 46m/Adventure/Ludwig Berger)
(7:45AM) Lord of the Flies (1963/1h 30m/Drama/Peter Brook)
(9:30AM) Tunes of Glory (1960/1h 45m/WaRonald Neame)
(11:30AM) Tom Jones (1963/2h 11m/Comedy/Tony Richardson)
(1:45PM) The Lady Vanishes (1938/1h 37m/Suspense/Alfred Hitchcock)
(3:30PM) Oliver Twist (1948/1h 56m/Drama/David Lean)
(5:30PM) Sense and Sensibility (1995/2h 15m/Romance/Ang Lee)
(8:00PM) Marty (1955/1h 31m/Romance/Delbert Mann)
(9:45PM) Harvey (1950/1h 44m/Comedy/Henry Koster)
THU MAY 23
(12:00PM) Alice (1990/1h 25m/Comedy/Woody Allen)
(2:00AM) Tommy (1975/1h 51m/Musical/Ken Russell)
(4:00AMP Lenny (1974/1h 51/Drama/Ken Russell)
(6:00AM) Marriage on the Rocks (1965/1h 49m/Comedy/Jack Donohue)
(8:00AM) The Tender Trap (1955/1h 51m/Comedy/Charles Walters)
(10:00AM) Big City (1948/1h 43m/Crime/Norman Taurog)
(12:00PM) Neptune's Daughter (1949/1h 33m/Musical/Edward Buzzell)
(2:00PM) On the Town (1949/1h 38m/Musical/Gene Kelly)
(4:00PM) Take Me Out to the Ball Game (1949/1h 33m/Musical/Busby Berkeley)
(5:45PM) Words and Music (1948/1h 59m/Musical/Norman Taurog)
(8:00PM) How Green Was My Valley (1941/1h 58m/Drama/John Ford)
(10:15PM) Seven Samurai (1956/2h 40m/Drama/Akira Kurosawa)
FRI MAY 24
(2:00AM) The Battle of Algiers (1966/2h 0h/WaGillo Pontecorvo)
(3:15AM) Lust for Life (1956/2h 2m/Drama/Vincente Minnelli)
(5:30AM) MGM Parade Show #11 (1955/0h 25m/Documentary/?)
(6:00AM) A Day at the Races (1937/1h 45m/Comedy/Sam Wood)
(8:00AM) I Love You Again (1940/1h 39m/Comedy/W. S. Van Dyke II)
(10:00AM) The Loved One (1965/1h 56m/Comedy/Tony Richardson)
(12:15PM) The Awful Truth (1937/1h 30m/Comedy/Leo McCarey)
(2:00PM) No Time For Sergeants (1958/1h 59m/Comedy/Mervyn Le Roy)
(4:15PM) The Sunshine Boys (1975/1h 51m/Comedy/Herbert Ross)
(6:15PM) The Producers (1967/1h 28m/Comedy/Mel Brooks)
(8:00PM) The Caine Mutiny (1954/2h 5m/Drama/Edward Dmytryk)
(10:15PM) Platoon (1986/2h 0m/WaOliver Stone)
SAT MAY 25
(12:30AM) Men in War (1957/1h 44m/WaAnthony Mann)
(2:15\AM) The Steel Helmet (1951/1h 24m/WaSamuel Fuller)
(4:00AM) Go for Broke! (1951/1h 32m/WaRobert Pirosh)
(5:45AM) The Human Comedy (1943/1h 58m/Drama/Clarence Brown)
(7:45AM) Merrill's Marauders (1962/1h 38m/WaSamuel Fuller)
(9:30AM) They Were Expendable (1945/2h 15m/WaJohn Ford)
(12:00PM) Thank Your Lucky Stars (1943/2h 7m/Musical/David Butler)
(2:15PM) Onionhead (1958/1h 50m/Comedy/Norman Taurog)
(4:15PM) The Story of G. I. Joe (1945/1h 49m/WaWilliam A. Wellman)
(6:15PM) A Farewell to Arms (1932/1h 18m/Romance/Frank Borzage)
(8:00PM) Attack (1956/1h 47m/WaRobert Aldrich)
(10:00PM) Captains of the Clouds (1942/1h 53m/WaMichael Curtiz)
SUN MAY 26
(12:00AM) Bad for Each Other (1954/1h 23m/Film-NoiIrving Rapper)
(1:45AM) Men Of The Fighting Lady (1954/1h 20m/WaAndrew Marton)
(3:15AM) The Red Badge Of Courage (1951/1h 9m/Drama/John Huston)
(4:45AM) Wings For The Eagle (1942/1h 23m/WaLloyd Bacon)
(6:15AM) The Fighting 69th (1940/1h 30m/WaWilliam Keighley)
(7:45AM) Mister Roberts (1955/2h 3m/Comedy/John Ford)
(10:00AM) Bad for Each Other (1954/1h 23m/Film-NoiIrving Rapper)
(11:45AM) The Naked and the Dead (1958/2h 11m/WaRaoul Walsh)
(2:15PM) The Dirty Dozen (1967/2h 29m/WaRobert Aldrich)
(5:00PM) The Great Escape (1963/2h 48m/WaJohn Sturges)
(8:00PM) The Memphis Belle: A Story of a Flying Fortress (1944/40m/Documentary/Lt. Col. William Wyler)
(9:00PM) The Cold Blue (2018/1h 41m/Documentary/Erik Nelson)
(11:00PM) The Best Years Of Our Lives (1946/2h 52m/Drama/William Wyler)
MON MAY 27
(2:00AM) The Flying Fleet (1929/1h 27m/Silent/George Hill)
(2:15AM) The Flying Fleet (1929/1h 27m/Silent/George Hill)
(3:45AM) The Burmese Harp (1956/1h 56m/WaKon Ichikawa)
(4:00AM) The Burmese Harp (1956/1h 56m/WaKon Ichikawa)
(6:00AM) The Cranes Are Flying (1957/1h 34m/Romance/Mikhail Kalatozov)
(7:45AM) Appointment in Tokyo (1946/0h 55m/Documentary/Maj. Jack Hively)
(8:45AM) The McConnell Story (1955/1h 47m/Drama/Gordon Douglas)
(10:45AM) War Nurse (1930/1h 20m/WaEdgar Selwyn)
(12:15PM) Cry 'Havoc' (1944/1h 37m/WaRichard Thorpe)
(2:00PM) Bataan (1943/1h 54m/WaTay Garnett)
(4:00PM) The Rack (1956/1h 40m/Drama/Arnold Laven)
(5:45PM) Darby's Rangers (1958/2h 1m/WaWilliam A. Wellman)
(8:00PM) Three Came Home (1950/1h 46m/WaJean Negulesco)
(10:00PM) The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957/2h 41m/Drama/David Lean)
TUE MAY 28
(2:00AM) Assignment in Brittany (1943/1h 36m/Drama/Jack Conway)
(3:45AM) Sergeant York (1941/2h 14m/WaHoward Hawks)
(6:15AM) Mummy's Boys (1936/1h 8m/Comedy/Fred Guiol)
(7:30AM) My Demon Lover (1987/1h 27m/Comedy/Ted G, Vujovich)
(9:00AM) The Smiling Ghost (1941/1h 11m/Suspense/Lewis Seiler)
(10:30AM) Singapore Woman (1941/1h 4m/Drama/Jean Negulesco)
(11:45AM) The Reptile (1966/1h 30m/HorroJohn Gilling)
(1:30PM) Death Curse of Tartu (1966/HorroWilliam Grefé)
(3:00PM) Curse of the Demon (1958/1h 35m/HorroJacques Tourneur)
(4:30PM) The Curse of the Mummy's Tomb (1964/1h 21m/HorroMichael Carreras)
(6:00PM) Sphinx (1981/1h 58m/Adventure/Franklin J. Schaffner)
(8:00PM) Jason And The Argonauts (1963/1h 44m/Adventure/Don Chaffey)
(10:00PM) King Kong (1933/1h 40m/HorroMerian C. Cooper)
WED MAY 29
(12:00AM) Metropolis (1926/2h 23m/Silent/Fritz Lang)
(2:45AM) Modern Times (1936/1h 27m/Silent/Charlie Chaplin)
(4:15AM) Eraserhead (1977/1h 40m/HorroDavid Lynch)
(6:00AM) Beauty and the Beast (1946.1h 35m/Romance/Jean Cocteau)
(7:45AM) The Merry Widow (1934/1h 39m/Musical/Ernst Lubitsch)
(9:30AM) The Red Danube (1949/1h 59m/Drama/George Sidney)
(11:45AM) Conquest (1937/1h 52m/Romance/Clarence Brown)
(1:45PM) National Velvet (1944/2h 5m/Drama/Clarence Brown)
(4:00PM) Invitation to the Dance (1956/1h 33m/Musical/Gene Kelly)
(5:45PM) The Sea of Grass (1947/2h 11m/Drama//Elia Kazan)
(10:00PM) Ninotchka (1939/1h 50m/Comedy/Ernst Lubitsch)
THU MAY 30
(12:00AM) Camille (1937/1h 48m/Romance/George Cukor)
(2:00AM) Suzy (1936/1h 39m/Drama/Geo. Fitzmaurice)
(3:45AM) Marius (1931/2h 5m/Comedy/Alexandre Korda)
(6:00AM) British Agent (1934/1h 21m/Suspense/Michael Curtiz)
(7:30AM) Crossroads (1942/1h 24m/Suspense/Jack Conway)
(9:00AM) Mission to Moscow (1943/2h 3m/Drama/Michael Curtiz)
(11:15AM) Princess O'Rourke (1943/1h 34m/Comedy/Norman Krasna)
(1:00PM) A Majority of One (1961/2h 33m/Comedy/Mervyn Le Roy)
(3:30PM) The Notorious Landlady (1962/2h 3m/Comedy/Richard Quine)
(5:45PM) The Ugly American (1963/2h 0h/Drama/George Englund)
(8:00PM) The Front Page (1974/1h 45m/Comedy/Billy Wilder)
(10:00PM) The Front Page (1931/1h 41m/Comedy/Lewis Milestone)
FRI MAY 31
(12:00AM) His Girl Friday (1940/1h 32m/Comedy/Howard Hawks)
(2:00AM) Switching Channels (1988/1h 45m/Comedy/Ted Kotcheff)
(4:00AM) Hooper (1978/1h 39m/Comedy/Hal Needham)
(6:00AM) Wild Rovers (1971/1h 50m/Western/Blake Edwards)
(8:30AM) The Great Bank Hoax (1977/1h 33m/Comedy/Joseph Jacoby)
(10:15AM) Larceny, Inc. (1942/1h 35m/Comedy/Lloyd Bacon)
(1:30PM) Going in Style (1979/1h 37m/Comedy/Martin Brest)
(3:30PM) The Getaway (1972/2h 2m/Crime/Sam Peckinpah)
(5:45PM) Dog Day Afternoon (1975/2h 10m/Crime/Sidney Lumet)
(8:00PM) The Public Enemy (1931/1h 14m/Crime/William A. Wellman)
(9:30PM) Brian's Song (1971/1h 30m/Drama/Buzz Kulik)
(11:00PM) The Bingo Long Traveling All-Stars and Motor Kings (1976/1h 50m/Comedy/John Badham)

I (23F) recently graduated this past weekend, and my parents came to my city to have dinner with me. When we were talking at dinner, my mom reminded me of a kid I used to attend high school with. I honestly didn't remember this story until she said his name, but I think it was a pretty satisfying moment in my young life.
For context, I've been playing violin as a casual hobby for the vast part of my life. My grandma knew someone through the grape vine who would mentor me, and I attended her lessons from kindergarten all the way to senior year of high school. I have a pretty good grasp of the instrument, and an echoic memory, which is a neat little party trick. I did do some recitals here and there, but the closest I'd ever come to playing in a group was with my old church, and even then, it was pretty laid back.
When I was a freshman, I joined with my school's string orchestra. This was a small group, and I was the only new freshman that year. I think it was about 14 kids at the most. My director was a very cool guy, and he was very accomodating since I was new to the 'learn a piece in X amount of weeks, then be ready to perform it here' strategy. Again, I was a casual player. I was still on Book 4 of the Suzuki collection.
This did not sit well with the first chair for violins- let's call him Guy. Guy was a junior, a top scoring student and had a bunch of other accolades to his name. My mom also apparently knew Guy; when she did recess duty at my previous school, Guy was constantly giving her lip and always brushed her off to seem cool. According to her and some gossip, he was one of those “instant gratification” only child types. The kids who are spoiled rotten by their parents so they never have to wait. My mom did not like his spoiled brattiness, and when she heard he was the first chair of my orchestra, she was already getting some “oh, god” sorta vibes from him, but said nothing to not make me worry.
Guy was a very intense leader. I think his instant gratification attitude spilled over into his musical pursuits. He was highly competitive and took his role as first chair very seriously. From day one, he made it clear that he didn't think I belonged in the orchestra. He would make snide comments about my playing, question my abilities, and generally make me feel unwelcome, especially with my other orchestra members. He always went out of his way to exclude me.
I wasn't too bothered by it at first, but it did slowly chip away at me. I continued to practice diligently and work hard to prove myself. Slowly but surely, I started to gain confidence in my playing. My director was supportive and encouraged me to keep pushing forward, and I will always thank him for that.
In early Fall, we were due to have an open house for incoming freshman / families, and my orchestra group was supposed to be there and perform for a few hours to get kids to join. Unfortunately, a few days before, my dad had some sudden medical complications- ruptured spleen. Because it was so sudden and out of nowhere, I didn't have time to really tell my director that I wouldn't be able to make it due the family emergency. The open house was on Sunday, and my director called my house that very Sunday to try and figure out where I was.
Admittedly, I panicked when the director called- it totally slipped my mind. I think I said something like “sir, I apologize for all this, but my dad’s in the hospital, he’s having surgery and it’s been serious and complicated and I just don’t know what’s gonna happen; I apologize for not giving you a proper heads up but it’s just been a haze all weekend.” Tried to remain cool and calm, even though I was mentally freaking the hell out.
Thankfully, my director was very understanding and even talked to me and my mom to make sure we were doing okay. He said that it was no big deal that I was missing out, since this was a smaller event and I should focus more on my own mental health more than anything. It was nice to have such an understanding guy.
I don't think he told any of the other members out of respect for my privacy, but Guy was frankly pissed about the whole situation. He was stewing on it for a while. Thankfully, my dad's surgery was a success, and he was doing better.
Of course, Guy had to spoil my mood.
The orchestra room at my school is usually open in the mornings, which lets kids drop off their instruments for the day. The day after the perfromance, I walked in to put my violin in its usual spot, and Guy angrily confronted me about why I missed out, pitching a whole scene in front of the others who were hanging out in there; i have no idea why he did this, but it was clear he was trying to embarrass me. He accused me of being unreliable and letting the team down, saying that my absence reflected poorly on the orchestra as a whole.
He yelled "What the hell gives you a pass to skip yesterday!?", and at this point, I've already been stressed for the better part of a weekend, so I decide to get some petty revenge right now. I'm guessing he wants me to just start crying, so I do. He looks satisfied for a second, before I yell out, loud enough for people outside to hear, “MY DAD WAS IN SURGERY, YOU DICK!” , and then run off.
Was I acting? Yes. But did it instantly shut him up? Absolutely. I got told this by a buddy in band, but after I ran out, Guy looked like he’d swallowed a damn frog at that moment. EVERYONE in the room was giving him a look that said 'what the hell, guy' and he looked like he wanted to yell at everyone.
After that, I guess he tried to pitch another fit in the group chat with all his older buddies, and I think they chewed him out too, because from their perspective, he just yelled at a freshman who's dad was having a damn medical emergency. I got stopped by a few of them in the hall, and they checked in, saw if I was doing better, just extending the basic definition of empathy. It was nice to see, and I think they felt better when I confirmed some stuff.
Word got back to the Director quick; he must have chewed Guy a new one, because when I got into orchestra that day, Guy looked very defeated. He didn't even look at me, until the Director took the stand. First off, he said the open house was a moderate success, and congradulated the group who played. However, he shifted gears and said he was very disappointed by some in-fighting within the group, and immediately turned towards Guy. He cleared his throat, and asked if he had anything to say to me.
Guy let out a very weak 'I'm sorry' and began hastily setting up his music stand. It was a very pathetic apology, but I wasn't exactly gonna sulk about not getting one. I had a lot more important things to focus on. After class, my director asked how I was doing, if my dad's surgery went okay, etc. Again, cool guy. I hope he's enjoying retirement.
The director ended up emailing my mom about what happened; knowing that the little shit that defied her authority back then got SOME minor comeuppance was a little petty revenge for her, carried out unintentionally by me. And the cherry on top? My dad came home the exact same day, so that was another weight lifted off my shoulders.
Guy did revert back to his usual rudeness, but he never blew up on me again to that effect. A bunch of his orchestra buddies did end up befriending me, so I had an enjoyable two years with them before they all graduated. After that, I ended up taking Guy's chair, and I promised myself I'd be more laid back and understanding with other members than he was with me. I think it worked out pretty good; we were a smaller group at that point, but still a really great sounding one.
TL;DR: kid that hated me made an ass of himself and chewed out by teacher, and that’s like the best petty revenge you can ask for.

"This isn't just a tale that is dreamt in the dead of night, this was very complex problem and involved my real life in multiple ways" I told her.
She rolled her eyes.
"It's a whole web of people that have forsaken me," I hissed and waved gesturing my hands higher erratically angry, "I'm calling the whole incident, The Abyss of The Bloodbath."
Her face turned inquisitive. She lay tilted on her side, calling me from the hotel bed, "I thought you were not into gore or revenge?"
I huffed realizing she must have heard the revenge in my hands waving, "dont you realize I am the one that took the bloodbath, you thoughtless thot? You thought I was the one going to revenge them? Really? Those flies aren't worth my time. Give me my pride, bitch!"
Egyptian rose water lingered in the air of our ocean side hovel. Filling the air with sea, love, beauty and rejuvenation.
"Swat. Swat. Swat. Flies, flies everywhere," I said giggling as I swatted a fly on her derierre. Then suddenly I was over her, pinning her down with my hand rammed up her chin. "Flies, flies, flies everywhere," I said again looking her dead in the eyes. "Flies, flies everywhere," I screamed in trills and spit on the pillow beside her as I jumped off of her.
She was a seductive, gruesome temptress, hiding with her insidious charm that she was a horrible demon herself. I pitied her none. I pet her cheek with the softness of my hand. "Such a dear you are," I cooed. "Let us go to walk the walk along the Red Sea, my love. Didn't we come here to get away from this all. Why am I even talking it?"
So we tooled our way down the bazaar that lay along the Sea, trying on sandals, scarves, rubbing perfumes of jasmine on each other. Growing more intimate each magical seaside shop, till our faces were woven so close that our breathing became one being. Dangling earrings between each others ears like lovers do. The tendrils of our wantiing one another filled the void till we were two souls ensnared together. Each vine of wanting sprawling outward with wicked intentions.
Soon after we found ourselves lounging on pillows in a beachside hut over the sea, enjoying each others company lounging on the ground as waiters served us all the delights of the Sharm, The afternoon sun glowing over us, our bodies turning coppertoned in its bask.
Our bodies pressed into each other watching the waves of the sea lap. Whatever the grim reality of our lives had been, it was forgotten. Our feet entwined and our legs clung to one another tightly. No thin line left between, merged as one. Our dark underbellies touching.
With playful, flirtatious demeanor, I whispered into her ear, "Sharks, sharks everywhere. I bet our Tangelo would like to be here with us. I think she came here once."
She pulled back, jealous of the name. Jealous I brought her into the conversation.
"Dont worry, dear," I whispered in her ear as I clasped her arm, forcing her to give up her attempted escape, "Let's talk about how the sharks will rip her neck with their vicious teeth. Imagine the blood flowing in the water. Wouldn't that be pretty, like tendrils of red dancing in the sun for you, my love."
Her body stopped fighting me, and I fed her fish from my own hands that our waiter had delivered. I shovelled the white sea flesh into her lips, holding her by the knape of the neck. My fingers wove into her hair like closed clamps. I pulled her closer, our lips close I wiped them for her and said, "Let's have some sheesha, darling."
I brought it's hose between us.
Smoke lingered languid in the air of our hut, her body softening into mine with each exhale. I added the syrian rue i'd found along the roadstop to the sheesha's charcoal and gave it a moment to hit her.
"Inhale that my gruesome twosome twin, inhale that," and I smiled at her with fire dancing in my eyes.
"Fires are coming for you. Flies are eveywhere on your rotten dead corpse," I smiled and my head bobbled like a serpents, hypnotically swaying as I said it. My whole body swaying with the tilts and turns of my head like a snake mesmering it's prety, "Fires are coming for you. Flies are everywhere on your rotten corpse." I laughed, unable to hide I was having duper's delight.
"Why, why, you witch, why," she whined and turned her face away. Her insides going soft to my love songs. Her complaints were all theatre.
"You heard me," I sanswered back and moved in grasping her harder around her neck. "I had to jump in the water to save you. It was a tender, blue sky day just like this," I wound up tight to tell my story.
Her body damp and limp with wanting, I carrried on, "your hair was blowing,, our faces against the wind as we took a boat across the sea to the Void. Our coven of the cyber realm behind us. Their spell on us broken. We are now in the Shark Tank, my beloved. The one where I throw you overboard after I rubbed your whole body with blood and shark bait. You wanted to be with the sharks, didn't you, you said you wanted the thrill, you just said so NOW, my beloved," I paused to smell her neck, to inhale some tangy, magic metallic on my tongue..
Her eyes closed as she pictured her demise, I continued, "our cult, our cult, my muerte worshipper, you wanted to hear of your death, my beloved." My veins twitching in excitement.
I flicked my tongue beside her ear so whisp of air tickled it. The flapping sound cleaving heavy between us. "You were inside me, you were as close as a human can get. Two vines we wove together, but you preferred to play slayer. So on a boat we go," I paused to splay my hand to the sea to show her the haunting Void we would enter. "Isn't it's vast depth beauty?"
"And there you were," I said starting off the spell, "you with your margarita in one hand, my hand in the other. You told me you wanted to be ripped apart by the sharks. I hate being sadist, darling. You pressured me. So i rubbed blood on your shoulders, down your back. Rolled you over to bloody your belly while you lay drunk with desire. You were twisting in excitement, rocking our boat as we moved along the sea. Your eyes'ecstatic as you watched me knife open my sea snakes I'd boughten for you, my devotee. Dont you recall this?"
I pulled back in rite, using my head to exhale the apple-scented smoke in a spiraling labyrinth around her face.
Initate. Initiate of Mother.
Her insatiable need for more dropped her head back, gasping, carelessly exposing the tender of her neck to me. She'd lost capability to speak.
So I descended on her, to open up the spirits. "Oh praises, praises, my Sister of Muerte, dance with me this death. Oh my sister, you long for me to tell you how the sharks tore into your intestines, dont you? How I had rubbed wet red ochre of blood so tender to open you to your Culling."
Her head swung to the side reeling in trance. "Your body pleads to hear about the boat that arrived screaming for you. They all wanted to save you, didn't they, that was so lovely for you, wasn't it? All those people begging for you to not leave them."
I ground my teeth down into each other snarling "Oh please they all cried" I said mocking them all with my head rocking, "oh please take our boat away from this to the coast, get us away from this bloodbath. God, why did you do this to this poor, battered woman. Bring our coast back, God! We dont want another minute in this infested shark tank." I spoke so bitter of all her saviours.
I didnt ease up, my hand closed in tighter into her neck, digging my nails in.
"Your body thrashed in the water, waving for their boat to save you. You trying to tuck your guts back in as they dangled with salt water stinging like razors cutting them again and again. I jumped in to save you, to push your stinging blue- tinged guts back in but before I could even lay my hands on your slippery guts ... you knifed me and now fire, fire awaits you.
"Flies, flies are everwhere," she could'nt control her longing for me.
We had gotten to the heart of the matter.
Her longing manifested like sorcery around us. Her voice now hush murmers of burning desire, "Flies are everywhere, Mother, Fires are coming for me. Flies are eveywhere on my rotten dead corpse. Sharks have taken me. My Santa Muerte embrace me," my girlfriend uttered in chant. "Take me now, Mother," she screamed.
"You were cold, lifeless on the wood plank floor of our boat." I announced, "I was with you. I am your dead body. Over my dead body will I let anyone eat you. Flies, flies are everywhere. I swat, swat them for you, my devotee."
"Please save me, Mother," my girlfriend said achingly lost in the abyss of death, longing for me to save her. I entwined my finger around hers in promise of my devotion back.
"Dont worry, I will save you," and I paused to offer her some dank tea from our seaside table. The late day sun peaking into our hut, ready to die it's death in the Red Sea.
"You know I saved you. You were in so much pain, dear. I have so much humanity in me, my love. I stood over your in a pool of blood seeping around you and grasped your neck and pinched in till I sealed of your breathing. Your guts squrimed between us dangling and it was so hard watching your body twitch it's last cold rite . Reborn you will be inside me. One with me for eternity."
Her face bask in the warmth of the golden Egyptian sun, leaving it's last glowing tracks on her as it descended into its death in the sea. Sinking body, dropping into the pitchy ocean.
"What color casket, should your abyss see," I asked her smiling. "Blue like the darkest depths of the ocean? With satin inside or more rich woods, for you dear? Shall we carve it together before your parting?"
We put our hands together, locked. Smiling at each other "This isn't just a tale that is dreamt in the dead of night," I told her, petting her cheek. "This is real. Pop. Pop. Wake up Wake up,"
I swat, swat, swatted her face lightly with the back of my hand in teasing pats and postulated, "you know I need any Lead I can get, my love Wake up. Let's make sweet Tangelo Dreams together. Pop. Pop. I will be like a cloud floating over the sea as I watch the warm, wet, sea swallow up your Mother of Pearl's studded casket."
I like to be like the flame. I'd like to be like the flame of your bonfire. I like to be like the sea that quenches your candle wick.
"This isn't just a tale that is dreamt in the dead of night," I told her as as I jumped up to dance on the edge of our hut on the sea, it's hazy warm breezes enrapturing us. The gauze of my skirt rising and clinging to my undulaing hips. My body flickering in sways, just like the flame rising towards you to swallow you.
"This isn't just a tale that is dreamt in the dead of night," I tell you.
originally submitted by lemonczinn in emberpalace

"This isn't just a tale that is dreamt in the dead of night, this was very complex problem and involved my real life in multiple ways" I told her.
She rolled her eyes.
"It's a whole web of people that have forsaken me," I hissed and waved gesturing my hands higher erratically angry, "I'm calling the whole incident, The Abyss of The Bloodbath."
Her face turned inquisitive. She lay tilted on her side, calling me from the hotel bed, "I thought you were not into gore or revenge?"
I huffed realizing she must have heard the revenge in my hands waving, "dont you realize I am the one that took the bloodbath, you thoughtless thot? You thought I was the one going to revenge them? Really? Those flies aren't worth my time. Give me my pride, bitch!"
Egyptian rose water lingered in the air of our ocean side hovel. Filling the air with sea, love, beauty and rejuvenation.
"Swat. Swat. Swat. Flies, flies everywhere," I said giggling as I swatted a fly on her derierre. Then suddenly I was over her, pinning her down with my hand rammed up her chin. "Flies, flies, flies everywhere," I said again looking her dead in the eyes. "Flies, flies everywhere," I screamed in trills and spit on the pillow beside her as I jumped off of her.
She was a seductive, gruesome temptress, hiding with her insidious charm that she was a horrible demon herself. I pitied her none. I pet her cheek with the softness of my hand. "Such a dear you are," I cooed. "Let us go to walk the walk along the Red Sea, my love. Didn't we come here to get away from this all. Why am I even talking it?"
So we tooled our way down the bazaar that lay along the Sea, trying on sandals, scarves, rubbing perfumes of jasmine on each other. Growing more intimate each magical seaside shop, till our faces were woven so close that our breathing became one being. Dangling earrings between each others ears like lovers do. The tendrils of our wantiing one another filled the void till we were two souls ensnared together. Each vine of wanting sprawling outward with wicked intentions.
Soon after we found ourselves lounging on pillows in a beachside hut over the sea, enjoying each others company lounging on the ground as waiters served us all the delights of the Sharm, The afternoon sun glowing over us, our bodies turning coppertoned in its bask.
Our bodies pressed into each other watching the waves of the sea lap. Whatever the grim reality of our lives had been, it was forgotten. Our feet entwined and our legs clung to one another tightly. No thin line left between, merged as one. Our dark underbellies touching.
With playful, flirtatious demeanor, I whispered into her ear, "Sharks, sharks everywhere. I bet our Tangelo would like to be here with us. I think she came here once."
She pulled back, jealous of the name. Jealous I brought her into the conversation.
"Dont worry, dear," I whispered in her ear as I clasped her arm, forcing her to give up her attempted escape, "Let's talk about how the sharks will rip her neck with their vicious teeth. Imagine the blood flowing in the water. Wouldn't that be pretty, like tendrils of red dancing in the sun for you, my love."
Her body stopped fighting me, and I fed her fish from my own hands that our waiter had delivered. I shovelled the white sea flesh into her lips, holding her by the knape of the neck. My fingers wove into her hair like closed clamps. I pulled her closer, our lips close I wiped them for her and said, "Let's have some sheesha, darling."
I brought it's hose between us.
Smoke lingered languid in the air of our hut, her body softening into mine with each exhale. I added the syrian rue i'd found along the roadstop to the sheesha's charcoal and gave it a moment to hit her.
"Inhale that my gruesome twosome twin, inhale that," and I smiled at her with fire dancing in my eyes.
"Fires are coming for you. Flies are eveywhere on your rotten dead corpse," I smiled and my head bobbled like a serpents, hypnotically swaying as I said it. My whole body swaying with the tilts and turns of my head like a snake mesmering it's prety, "Fires are coming for you. Flies are everywhere on your rotten corpse." I laughed, unable to hide I was having duper's delight.
"Why, why, you witch, why," she whined and turned her face away. Her insides going soft to my love songs. Her complaints were all theatre.
"You heard me," I sanswered back and moved in grasping her harder around her neck. "I had to jump in the water to save you. It was a tender, blue sky day just like this," I wound up tight to tell my story.
Her body damp and limp with wanting, I carrried on, "your hair was blowing,, our faces against the wind as we took a boat across the sea to the Void. Our coven of the cyber realm behind us. Their spell on us broken. We are now in the Shark Tank, my beloved. The one where I throw you overboard after I rubbed your whole body with blood and shark bait. You wanted to be with the sharks, didn't you, you said you wanted the thrill, you just said so NOW, my beloved," I paused to smell her neck, to inhale some tangy, magic metallic on my tongue..
Her eyes closed as she pictured her demise, I continued, "our cult, our cult, my muerte worshipper, you wanted to hear of your death, my beloved." My veins twitching in excitement.
I flicked my tongue beside her ear so whisp of air tickled it. The flapping sound cleaving heavy between us. "You were inside me, you were as close as a human can get. Two vines we wove together, but you preferred to play slayer. So on a boat we go," I paused to splay my hand to the sea to show her the haunting Void we would enter. "Isn't it's vast depth beauty?"
"And there you were," I said starting off the spell, "you with your margarita in one hand, my hand in the other. You told me you wanted to be ripped apart by the sharks. I hate being sadist, darling. You pressured me. So i rubbed blood on your shoulders, down your back. Rolled you over to bloody your belly while you lay drunk with desire. You were twisting in excitement, rocking our boat as we moved along the sea. Your eyes'ecstatic as you watched me knife open my sea snakes I'd boughten for you, my devotee. Dont you recall this?"
I pulled back in rite, using my head to exhale the apple-scented smoke in a spiraling labyrinth around her face.
Initate. Initiate of Mother.
Her insatiable need for more dropped her head back, gasping, carelessly exposing the tender of her neck to me. She'd lost capability to speak.
So I descended on her, to open up the spirits. "Oh praises, praises, my Sister of Muerte, dance with me this death. Oh my sister, you long for me to tell you how the sharks tore into your intestines, dont you? How I had rubbed wet red ochre of blood so tender to open you to your Culling."
Her head swung to the side reeling in trance. "Your body pleads to hear about the boat that arrived screaming for you. They all wanted to save you, didn't they, that was so lovely for you, wasn't it? All those people begging for you to not leave them."
I ground my teeth down into each other snarling "Oh please they all cried" I said mocking them all with my head rocking, "oh please take our boat away from this to the coast, get us away from this bloodbath. God, why did you do this to this poor, battered woman. Bring our coast back, God! We dont want another minute in this infested shark tank." I spoke so bitter of all her saviours.
I didnt ease up, my hand closed in tighter into her neck, digging my nails in.
"Your body thrashed in the water, waving for their boat to save you. You trying to tuck your guts back in as they dangled with salt water stinging like razors cutting them again and again. I jumped in to save you, to push your stinging blue- tinged guts back in but before I could even lay my hands on your slippery guts ... you knifed me and now fire, fire awaits you.
"Flies, flies are everwhere," she could'nt control her longing for me.
We had gotten to the heart of the matter.
Her longing manifested like sorcery around us. Her voice now hush murmers of burning desire, "Flies are everywhere, Mother, Fires are coming for me. Flies are eveywhere on my rotten dead corpse. Sharks have taken me. My Santa Muerte embrace me," my girlfriend uttered in chant. "Take me now, Mother," she screamed.
"You were cold, lifeless on the wood plank floor of our boat." I announced, "I was with you. I am your dead body. Over my dead body will I let anyone eat you. Flies, flies are everywhere. I swat, swat them for you, my devotee."
"Please save me, Mother," my girlfriend said achingly lost in the abyss of death, longing for me to save her. I entwined my finger around hers in promise of my devotion back.
"Dont worry, I will save you," and I paused to offer her some dank tea from our seaside table. The late day sun peaking into our hut, ready to die it's death in the Red Sea.
"You know I saved you. You were in so much pain, dear. I have so much humanity in me, my love. I stood over your in a pool of blood seeping around you and grasped your neck and pinched in till I sealed of your breathing. Your guts squrimed between us dangling and it was so hard watching your body twitch it's last cold rite . Reborn you will be inside me. One with me for eternity."
Her face bask in the warmth of the golden Egyptian sun, leaving it's last glowing tracks on her as it descended into its death in the sea. Sinking body, dropping into the pitchy ocean.
"What color casket, should your abyss see," I asked her smiling. "Blue like the darkest depths of the ocean? With satin inside or more rich woods, for you dear? Shall we carve it together before your parting?"
We put our hands together, locked. Smiling at each other "This isn't just a tale that is dreamt in the dead of night," I told her, petting her cheek. "This is real. Pop. Pop. Wake up Wake up,"
I swat, swat, swatted her face lightly with the back of my hand in teasing pats and postulated, "you know I need any Lead I can get, my love Wake up. Let's make sweet Tangelo Dreams together. Pop. Pop. I will be like a cloud floating over the sea as I watch the warm, wet, sea swallow up your Mother of Pearl's studded casket."
I like to be like the flame. I'd like to be like the flame of your bonfire. I like to be like the sea that quenches your candle wick.
"This isn't just a tale that is dreamt in the dead of night," I told her as as I jumped up to dance on the edge of our hut on the sea, it's hazy warm breezes enrapturing us. The gauze of my skirt rising and clinging to my undulaing hips. My body flickering in sways, just like the flame rising towards you to swallow you.
"This isn't just a tale that is dreamt in the dead of night," I tell you.
originally submitted by lemonczinn in emberpalace

As the ball lightning soared towards me, I came to life. It soared through the air with the speed of a cannonball. I heard the screams of Bear and Stephanie behind me, but it all sounded like an incomprehensible jumble. I jumped to the side, but it was far too late. The glowing ball of energy seared the flesh on my right arm. I smelled my skin cooking in its own fats. I landed on the ground as a bolt of agony shot through my body.
Bear had reloaded and sprinted forward towards the broken body of the creature. I raised my head and saw with horror that it had already started to heal. Tiny black veins like worms stuck out of the wounds on the creature’s head and legs, restitching the repulsive bony growths that composed its exoskeleton. They jumped and danced as they worked, the rounded ends of their tiny, leech-like heads performing a miracle before our very eyes.
The dark, fetid blood that gushed from the abomination on the ground had also started to slow significantly. As Bear ran towards it, I saw with horror that it had begun to try to push itself back up on its still-healing, shattered legs. It failed, stumbling like a baby deer taking its first steps, but I knew at the rate it was healing that it wouldn’t be long until its wounds were fully mended.
As Bear raised his .45 ACP pistol, ready to try to blow the creature away again, more green light began to form around its mouth and luminescent eyes. While Bear was preparing to fire at it, it had been preparing its own weapons in return.
Bear shot it point-blank in the face as pieces of the mass of light rippled into a cyclone. The bullet entered through its right eye. Like a jack-o-lantern being smashed, light poured from its ruined skull. The back of its head fragmented as bone splinters and pieces of flesh splattered the stone ground underneath it. The green light disintegrated. It felt like a flashbang had gone off. I was blinded by the overwhelming light that poured from its destroyed body. I also noticed a strange combination of smells- ozone mixed with the fetid reek of a slaughterhouse.
Bear stood there, panting heavily, his face covered in a thick layer of sweat. He looked down at the abomination on the ground. New veins and tendrils the size of a pencil reached out like fingers through the massive hole in its face. I looked down at my arm, wincing as I saw the deep wound. There was a charred, blackened spot about the size of an egg surrounded by patches of angry red tissue that spread out like groping fingers.
“How do we kill it?” I screamed, ignoring the pain. “What if it just keeps regenerating?”
“We should cut off its head,” Stephanie said calmly, a steely gleam in her eye. “Cut off its head and move it far away from the body, so that way they can’t rejoin.” She slung her backpack around and came up with a gleaming buck knife, its freshly-sharpened blade keen enough to shave with.
The creature still lived somehow. It had gone into some sort of seizure, kicking its thick, vampiric legs in violent jerking motions. I noticed it had thirteen fingers and thirteen toes, all crooked and inhumanly long. Sharp black claws grew out of the ends. It shook its head violently from side to side as if it were saying “No”, spattering its dark blood all over the floor and walls. I noticed how its blood glistened in the beam of the flashlights. It shone with oil rainspots, an iridescent pattern of colors gleaming as it streamed from the creature’s broken head.
“Are you sure?” Bear said, still hyperventilating. He looked at Stephanie standing there with the buck knife as if he had never seen her before. I must have given her a similar look. She had a sadistic pleasure in her eyes as she nodded grimly. She stood over the abomination’s writhing body, each one of her feet planted firmly on a side of its head, like a boxer standing victorious over his opponent after a knockout.
Bear and I each stood on one of the creature’s wrists so it couldn’t claw Stephanie out as she completed her grisly task. She knelt down, inhaling deeply. Then, without a moment of hesitation, she shoved the blade into the thing’s twitching neck. It gave an ear-splitting, demonic shriek as it spewed black blood like a fountain. Its jaw unhinged, and the dark blood flowed out of the center of the green electricity like a waterfall descending from an impenetrable mist.
But Stephanie kept cutting and slicing, her face a grim mask of determination. I heard a rending sound as its flesh tore. She had a problem with the spine, but, at least by that point, all the flesh had been sliced through and its movements had ceased. Its chest still rose and fell erratically. It gurgled as it choked on its own blood.
“Here, let me help,” Bear said, pushing her aside. With his thick arms, he twisted the creature’s head, which now only remained connected to its body by the vertebrae and a thin layer of gore around it. With a sound like a tree branch snapping, the head separated from the body. The green light brightened, faded to nothingness, then came back weakly for a moment before finally disappearing forever.
“Holy shit, that was intense,” I said, feeling like I was about to have a heart attack.
***
Bear held the decapitated head in his hands, an uncertain expression on his face. The nightmarish visage seemed to stare up at him accusingly, the empty holes of eye sockets sunken and black in the bony face.
“What are we going to do with this?” Bear asked, shaking the ugly bastard for emphasis. I shrugged.
“Use it as a soccer ball, I guess…” I started to say jokingly, but my voice cut off as a soft, angelic singing reverberated down the hall. It was singing in some language I had never heard before, a resonant, humming language that nearly brought tears to my eyes with its beauty.
As the singing abruptly cut off, a figure came around the curving street. I saw it hovering over the ground. Enormous, leathery wings spread out on both sides of its body, extending fifteen or twenty feet in each direction. They ended in sharp points like the wings of a bat. Narrow bones ran along the lengths of the wings, supporting the dark webbing.
It wore a black satin robe with the hood pulled back. When I saw what it revealed, I gasped.
Its head was twisted around 180 degrees. The skin on the neck spiraled around in purple bruises. In the place of hair, it had dozens of writhing, black eel creatures with circular white eyes and dripping fangs. They snapped at each other like wolves fighting over food.
I watched as the approaching figure hovered towards us, feeling slightly hypnotized as the creature bobbed up and down like a buoy on a lake. It moved in a smooth, elegant way.
I stood there in a daze, hoping it would finish its song. I wanted so badly to hear that beautiful voice again. I glanced over at Bear and Stephanie. They both stared in open-mouthed wonder, Bear still clutching the decapitated head of the abomination under one arm.
But that little voice in the back of my head quickly pulled me out of my reverie as I realized that this was the Angel of Death. The Angel of Death glid through the air, its skeletal feet hovering a few inches above the ground. It would fall and rise slightly as it moved. As it got closer to us, the eel-like creatures growing from its scalp started to get more violent, snapping and gnashing their sharp teeth on the empty air, their jaws clacking together with a sound like a gunshot.
Stephanie was actually the first one to break out of the trance. She whispered as if afraid to draw the attention of the angelic abomination.
“There was a rule about this,” she hissed at us under her breath. “We need to cut ourselves and give an offering of blood.” I jerked like a man waking from a nightmare. The Angel of Death had closed in on us now, its face still looking away from us. But I knew without a doubt that it sensed our presence and had likely known we were there for a while.
As if to show us how it was done, Stephanie pulled her folding knife from her pocket and slid it across her palm, opening up a narrow slice that instantly began bubbling up with thin rivulets of blood. She held it up, letting it stream down her arm as the angel got within a few steps of us.
Bear and I quickly followed suit, flicking open our knives and raising our hands. I felt a quick, burning pain as I drew the knife across my palm, holding it up as the eel creatures snapped and hissed. Then she stopped, and the strange snake-like beings growing from her head went quiet. For a long moment, nothing moved. The silence seemed absolute.
“What do you seek?” she gurgled in a low, slowed-down voice. “Why do you foul this holy site with your mortal bodies?” I wondered how she saw us, unless she was able to see and feel through the eels emerging from her scalp. Actually, the more I thought about that, the more likely it seemed. If true, it meant she would be able to see in all directions at once. I imagined no one would ever sneak up on the Angel of Death- as if anyone would ever want to.
“We… we came here by accident,” Stephanie stuttered, stepping forwards as she spoke. “We seek a way out.” The angel went quiet for a long moment. The white cataract eyes on the eel creatures seemed to regard us with a strange intensity.
“What is that delicious offering under your arm, Son of Adam?” she asked. For a second, I had no idea what she was talking about. I couldn’t tell if she was talking to me or Bear. But the eel’s blank white eyes all focused on Bear, snapping to attention like dogs begging for a treat. They stopped their writhing and gnashing, going very still and looking at him for a long moment. I glanced over and saw he still held the decapitated head from the Mark of Cain abomination. He hesitated, looking uncertain. I nodded at him, urging him on. He held the head up high above his head.
“It is for you,” he said in a diffident voice. “We brought it for you as well as our offerings of blood.” The Angel of Death spun around, revealing a skeletal face with worms and larvae eating away at the rotting chunks of flesh still stuck to her cheeks and chin. Her eyes glowed with an inner white illumination like two pale stars spinning in the void. There were no physical eyes in her head, only these strobing and pulsing pits of blinding light.
“It smells… delicious,” she admitted, floating forwards slowly. Her decaying skull of a head drew within inches of Bear’s face. He flinched away, blinking rapidly. I could see him breathing fast as trickles of sweat ran down his face. I could smell the Angel of Death as she drew near- a smell like old leather and rancid meat. But underneath that, there was a sweet, pleasant odor, like an undertone of lavender.
“Your offerings are accepted. I will grant you a single boon for this,” the Angel of Death gurgled in a deep voice. She bent her face towards Bear’s bleeding hand and stuck her black tongue out. I looked at it with horror, seeing its putrefying sores and necrotic tissue. She used the fetid, rotting thing to lick the blood from his palm and wrist. I saw Bear shudder and go pale as her tongue ran over his skin. Then she went to Stephanie, repeating the bizarre ritual. Stephanie didn’t show a scrap of emotion during it, however. Then finally, the Angel of Death came to me.
Her tongue felt cold and soggy against my bleeding skin. Small pieces of the decomposing flesh and larvae were left on my wrist and hand as she moved up and down, sucking the blood caressingly, almost like a lover. I repressed an urge to vomit. My stomach did flips. After what felt like an eternity, she pulled away, spinning around and putting her claw-like hands out to Bear.
“Your tribute,” she demanded. Reluctantly, he gave her the head. Her arms bent backwards in a way that no human arm should bend, twisting and popping with soft cracking sounds. She threw the decapitated head up to the eel creatures growing from her scalp. They cracked open the bony exoskeleton with a sound like a walnut shell breaking open. It revealed the spongy, pink flesh underneath. It seemed infused with some kind of green growth, almost like tendrils of mold that ate its way through its brain and muscles. The eels quickly stripped it clean, sticking their pointy snouts in and snapping up the meat with rabid hunger.
“Mmmmm,” the Angel of Death said in a resonant voice that made her sound almost human. It was as if she could taste the meat and blood that the eel creatures stripped from the decapitated head. Perhaps she could. A chill ran down my spine.
After they had finished stripping the meat from the offering, their gnashing and writhing calmed down. She turned her face back to us and I saw, to my horror, that the offerings of blood and meat had revitalized her skeletal face somewhat. It now had fresh growths of pink skin around her cheeks, mouth and eyes. I heard Bear and Stephanie gasp in unison as they saw her regenerating face.
“Your boon,” she demanded impatiently, the bones now almost covered with new growths of skin that spread out over the rotten flesh underneath. I looked at Bear. He instantly nodded. We were all on the same page without having to speak it aloud.
“We want to know the way out,” Bear said, stepping forward and speaking in a loud voice. “We want to return home.” The Angel of Death nodded as if expecting this, the eel-like creatures on her head drooping lazily as if they were tired after their meal.
“The only way out is farther in, through the center,” she said. “But the true king of the bottomless pit will not let you pass without a struggle. His name is Abaddon, and he is a demon of the worst kind. His kind has always been against mine- since beginningless time, we have fought. For the followers of Abaddon wish to bring about the Apocalypse. They wish to unleash God from the bottomless pit, so that he can destroy his creation before fading into oblivion. They believe that, when the universe topples, they will become gods themselves. I believe Abaddon is insane, however. I do not know who promised him godhood, unless he promised it to himself.”
“And we must not look at his face, right?” I said, smirking. The Angel of Death nodded.
“Mortals must not gaze upon the face of Abaddon. It will melt the flesh off your bones if you do. There are things in the dark that are not meant to be seen by human eyes.”
***
As the Angel of Death led us farther down into the pit, past more ancient towers and statues of angels with cruel, arrogant faces, I heard something far away. It sounded like people shouting and guns firing.
The Angel of Death floated above the ground in front of us, her backwards face always staring at us. It gave me the creeps. Her eyes never seemed to blink, and every time I looked up, I always found her staring right at me.
After a few minutes of traveling, she pointed to a dark side street with a long, skeletal finger. The stone road ran steeply down into darkness. It looked slick with moisture, and I saw a small subterranean stream flowing down the side of it. But as I looked closer, I realized the stream wasn’t water at all. The smell of copper and iron in the air was overwhelming as I knelt down, running a finger through it and pulling it up to see the red stain it left.
“Is this blood?” I asked, horrified. The Angel of Death did not answer me, but only continued to stare at me with her blank, dead eyes.
“The center is further down. Follow this road until the end. I wish you good luck, but I think I will see some of you again very soon. The last sands are flowing through your hourglass as we speak. So it is with mortals. Weak, pitiful things, they are. A mere breath of my power could destroy all three of you in an instant.” I couldn’t tell who she was looking at when she spoke these words, but they filled my heart with a sense of dread.
She drifted away slowly, almost lazily, hovering above the ground as she rose and fell in gentle waves, bobbing like a leaf in the wind. Within a few seconds, she had turned back down towards the dead city of Bloodstone, population zero.
***
We quickly realized the source of the shouting and gunshots when some agents dressed in gas masks and tactical black SWAT uniforms sprinted towards us. They all had automatic rifles as well as dark green M67 fragmentation grenades attached to their belts.
They froze when they saw us, but they didn’t raise their guns. Their leader walked forwards, hesitantly looking each of us up and down without speaking.
“Sir?” one of the soldiers finally asked in the back after a few very long seconds.
“Let them go,” he said, motioning his troops on. “Not my fucking problem.”
“Wait!” Stephanie cried as they started to run away without giving us a backwards glance. “Are you with Agent Garland?” Their leader froze at the name, turning to face her.
“Yeah, we met your guy in the city of Bloodstone,” Bear said, keeping his hand near his holstered pistol.
“Look, I don’t know who you guys are, but shit is going downhill fast,” the leader said, his voice distorted and eerie through the gas mask. “We’ve lost most of our company down there. We are trying to call for reinforcements. I don’t know who you are, but you don’t belong here. Going down there is suicide.”
“Why are you calling for reinforcements? What’s so important that you would want to sacrifice the lives of your men and risk having even more killed?” I asked. His body stiffened.
“We’re trying to stop the Apocalypse,” he said, turning away and motioning for his men to continue following him. Within a minute, they were gone from sight around a bend in the steep, narrow tunnel. More gunshots echoed up from below. Bear and I looked at each other, exchanging worried glances, but Stephanie seemed unfazed.
“We need to keep going down,” she urged. “It’s the only way out.”
“I wish we had more weapons,” I said regretfully, following her down into the darkness below.
***
After a few more minutes, the tunnel started to open up, the river of blood flowing into a swampy mess at the bottom. Strange, writhing vines twisted on its surface. Long, blood-red thorns spiraled around their thick stems.
A bridge made of bones led across the blood-red subterranean lake. I saw arm and leg bones stacked vertically, bound together with narrow strips of silver. Human skulls embedded in the bones formed a pattern, a symbol that seemed familiar. It looked like a backwards seven with a diagonal slashing line through it.
Across the bone bridge, I saw Agent Garland, his face sweaty and pale. He was surrounded by dozens of soldiers, some of them in gas masks and riot gear, others wearing plain black suits. All of them had automatic rifles, and most of them also had grenades and pistols as well.
“Agent Garland!” I cried. He jumped, spinning around and pointing his gun at me. When he saw my face, he lowered it.
“You goddamned idiots,” Agent Garland screamed. “You could have gotten yourselves shot! What are you even…” But his voice was cut off by a terrifying roar from behind him.
It sounded as if thousands of demonic voices shrieked together in a cacophony of alien tongues. It was a language of strange hisses, a language of hundreds of disparate voices screaming in low, slowed-down hisses.
“Another attack incoming!” a man in a black suit yelled, and the soldiers all turned away from us. Across the bridge, past the group of soldiers, I saw a tunnel that looked like a giant, hungry mouth with sharp stalactites and stalagmites sticking up and down like deformed, dripping teeth. An abyss of shadows cloaked the passageway, as dark as a midnight funeral. From the darkness, I saw silhouettes of creatures emerging that would have been at home in Dante’s Inferno.
There were more of the flying locust creatures we had encountered earlier, the ones with hairless child-like faces and dripping stingers. Their wings beat like helicopter blades, slicing through the air in a deafening cacophony. Their strange, white eyes seemed to change into expressions of pleasure and hunger as they drew nearer, their stingers dripping poison faster and faster as they got nearer to their prey. Dozens of them streamed forwards, grouped in packs of three and four flying in tight formation.
Behind these scorpion-like abominations, I saw something huge crawl out of the darkness, its skin the color of a black scab. The first thing I thought of when I saw it was of rat kings, when dozens or hundreds of rats get their tails intertwined and become, in effect, one body with countless skittering legs.
This was a conglomeration of many burnt, blackened bodies melded together with dozens of arms and dozens of legs sticking out of it. Multiple heads on top moaned in agony, their open, toothless mouths drooling blood and black fluid onto the burnt mass of skin below. Their lidless eyes had faded blue irises surrounded by bloody sclera. They constantly cried crimson tears.
These demonic conglomerations towered over the soldiers, each one fifteen or twenty feet tall. Their dozens of legs twisted in peristaltic waves, resembling the movement of some giant millipede. It propelled the entire mass forwards at a superhuman speed. I saw it scuttling towards us in a blur. And even though this happened years ago, I still see those abominations in my nightmares, and I regularly wake up screaming.
The agents opened fire. Bear pulled out his gun, and Stephanie and I took out our knives. My burned right arm shrieked in agony as I reached into my pocket.
I didn’t know it at the time, but that would be the last time the three of us would stand together in this life.
Part 4
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/19b1q7o/i_found_the_bottomless_pit_from_the_book_of/

As the ball lightning soared towards me, I came to life. It soared through the air with the speed of a cannonball. I heard the screams of Bear and Stephanie behind me, but it all sounded like an incomprehensible jumble. I jumped to the side, but it was far too late. The glowing ball of energy seared the flesh on my right arm. I smelled my skin cooking in its own fats. I landed on the ground as a bolt of agony shot through my body.
Bear had reloaded and sprinted forward towards the broken body of the creature. I raised my head and saw with horror that it had already started to heal. Tiny black veins like worms stuck out of the wounds on the creature’s head and legs, restitching the repulsive bony growths that composed its exoskeleton. They jumped and danced as they worked, the rounded ends of their tiny, leech-like heads performing a miracle before our very eyes.
The dark, fetid blood that gushed from the abomination on the ground had also started to slow significantly. As Bear ran towards it, I saw with horror that it had begun to try to push itself back up on its still-healing, shattered legs. It failed, stumbling like a baby deer taking its first steps, but I knew at the rate it was healing that it wouldn’t be long until its wounds were fully mended.
As Bear raised his .45 ACP pistol, ready to try to blow the creature away again, more green light began to form around its mouth and luminescent eyes. While Bear was preparing to fire at it, it had been preparing its own weapons in return.
Bear shot it point-blank in the face as pieces of the mass of light rippled into a cyclone. The bullet entered through its right eye. Like a jack-o-lantern being smashed, light poured from its ruined skull. The back of its head fragmented as bone splinters and pieces of flesh splattered the stone ground underneath it. The green light disintegrated. It felt like a flashbang had gone off. I was blinded by the overwhelming light that poured from its destroyed body. I also noticed a strange combination of smells- ozone mixed with the fetid reek of a slaughterhouse.
Bear stood there, panting heavily, his face covered in a thick layer of sweat. He looked down at the abomination on the ground. New veins and tendrils the size of a pencil reached out like fingers through the massive hole in its face. I looked down at my arm, wincing as I saw the deep wound. There was a charred, blackened spot about the size of an egg surrounded by patches of angry red tissue that spread out like groping fingers.
“How do we kill it?” I screamed, ignoring the pain. “What if it just keeps regenerating?”
“We should cut off its head,” Stephanie said calmly, a steely gleam in her eye. “Cut off its head and move it far away from the body, so that way they can’t rejoin.” She slung her backpack around and came up with a gleaming buck knife, its freshly-sharpened blade keen enough to shave with.
The creature still lived somehow. It had gone into some sort of seizure, kicking its thick, vampiric legs in violent jerking motions. I noticed it had thirteen fingers and thirteen toes, all crooked and inhumanly long. Sharp black claws grew out of the ends. It shook its head violently from side to side as if it were saying “No”, spattering its dark blood all over the floor and walls. I noticed how its blood glistened in the beam of the flashlights. It shone with oil rainspots, an iridescent pattern of colors gleaming as it streamed from the creature’s broken head.
“Are you sure?” Bear said, still hyperventilating. He looked at Stephanie standing there with the buck knife as if he had never seen her before. I must have given her a similar look. She had a sadistic pleasure in her eyes as she nodded grimly. She stood over the abomination’s writhing body, each one of her feet planted firmly on a side of its head, like a boxer standing victorious over his opponent after a knockout.
Bear and I each stood on one of the creature’s wrists so it couldn’t claw Stephanie out as she completed her grisly task. She knelt down, inhaling deeply. Then, without a moment of hesitation, she shoved the blade into the thing’s twitching neck. It gave an ear-splitting, demonic shriek as it spewed black blood like a fountain. Its jaw unhinged, and the dark blood flowed out of the center of the green electricity like a waterfall descending from an impenetrable mist.
But Stephanie kept cutting and slicing, her face a grim mask of determination. I heard a rending sound as its flesh tore. She had a problem with the spine, but, at least by that point, all the flesh had been sliced through and its movements had ceased. Its chest still rose and fell erratically. It gurgled as it choked on its own blood.
“Here, let me help,” Bear said, pushing her aside. With his thick arms, he twisted the creature’s head, which now only remained connected to its body by the vertebrae and a thin layer of gore around it. With a sound like a tree branch snapping, the head separated from the body. The green light brightened, faded to nothingness, then came back weakly for a moment before finally disappearing forever.
“Holy shit, that was intense,” I said, feeling like I was about to have a heart attack.
***
Bear held the decapitated head in his hands, an uncertain expression on his face. The nightmarish visage seemed to stare up at him accusingly, the empty holes of eye sockets sunken and black in the bony face.
“What are we going to do with this?” Bear asked, shaking the ugly bastard for emphasis. I shrugged.
“Use it as a soccer ball, I guess…” I started to say jokingly, but my voice cut off as a soft, angelic singing reverberated down the hall. It was singing in some language I had never heard before, a resonant, humming language that nearly brought tears to my eyes with its beauty.
As the singing abruptly cut off, a figure came around the curving street. I saw it hovering over the ground. Enormous, leathery wings spread out on both sides of its body, extending fifteen or twenty feet in each direction. They ended in sharp points like the wings of a bat. Narrow bones ran along the lengths of the wings, supporting the dark webbing.
It wore a black satin robe with the hood pulled back. When I saw what it revealed, I gasped.
Its head was twisted around 180 degrees. The skin on the neck spiraled around in purple bruises. In the place of hair, it had dozens of writhing, black eel creatures with circular white eyes and dripping fangs. They snapped at each other like wolves fighting over food.
I watched as the approaching figure hovered towards us, feeling slightly hypnotized as the creature bobbed up and down like a buoy on a lake. It moved in a smooth, elegant way.
I stood there in a daze, hoping it would finish its song. I wanted so badly to hear that beautiful voice again. I glanced over at Bear and Stephanie. They both stared in open-mouthed wonder, Bear still clutching the decapitated head of the abomination under one arm.
But that little voice in the back of my head quickly pulled me out of my reverie as I realized that this was the Angel of Death. The Angel of Death glid through the air, its skeletal feet hovering a few inches above the ground. It would fall and rise slightly as it moved. As it got closer to us, the eel-like creatures growing from its scalp started to get more violent, snapping and gnashing their sharp teeth on the empty air, their jaws clacking together with a sound like a gunshot.
Stephanie was actually the first one to break out of the trance. She whispered as if afraid to draw the attention of the angelic abomination.
“There was a rule about this,” she hissed at us under her breath. “We need to cut ourselves and give an offering of blood.” I jerked like a man waking from a nightmare. The Angel of Death had closed in on us now, its face still looking away from us. But I knew without a doubt that it sensed our presence and had likely known we were there for a while.
As if to show us how it was done, Stephanie pulled her folding knife from her pocket and slid it across her palm, opening up a narrow slice that instantly began bubbling up with thin rivulets of blood. She held it up, letting it stream down her arm as the angel got within a few steps of us.
Bear and I quickly followed suit, flicking open our knives and raising our hands. I felt a quick, burning pain as I drew the knife across my palm, holding it up as the eel creatures snapped and hissed. Then she stopped, and the strange snake-like beings growing from her head went quiet. For a long moment, nothing moved. The silence seemed absolute.
“What do you seek?” she gurgled in a low, slowed-down voice. “Why do you foul this holy site with your mortal bodies?” I wondered how she saw us, unless she was able to see and feel through the eels emerging from her scalp. Actually, the more I thought about that, the more likely it seemed. If true, it meant she would be able to see in all directions at once. I imagined no one would ever sneak up on the Angel of Death- as if anyone would ever want to.
“We… we came here by accident,” Stephanie stuttered, stepping forwards as she spoke. “We seek a way out.” The angel went quiet for a long moment. The white cataract eyes on the eel creatures seemed to regard us with a strange intensity.
“What is that delicious offering under your arm, Son of Adam?” she asked. For a second, I had no idea what she was talking about. I couldn’t tell if she was talking to me or Bear. But the eel’s blank white eyes all focused on Bear, snapping to attention like dogs begging for a treat. They stopped their writhing and gnashing, going very still and looking at him for a long moment. I glanced over and saw he still held the decapitated head from the Mark of Cain abomination. He hesitated, looking uncertain. I nodded at him, urging him on. He held the head up high above his head.
“It is for you,” he said in a diffident voice. “We brought it for you as well as our offerings of blood.” The Angel of Death spun around, revealing a skeletal face with worms and larvae eating away at the rotting chunks of flesh still stuck to her cheeks and chin. Her eyes glowed with an inner white illumination like two pale stars spinning in the void. There were no physical eyes in her head, only these strobing and pulsing pits of blinding light.
“It smells… delicious,” she admitted, floating forwards slowly. Her decaying skull of a head drew within inches of Bear’s face. He flinched away, blinking rapidly. I could see him breathing fast as trickles of sweat ran down his face. I could smell the Angel of Death as she drew near- a smell like old leather and rancid meat. But underneath that, there was a sweet, pleasant odor, like an undertone of lavender.
“Your offerings are accepted. I will grant you a single boon for this,” the Angel of Death gurgled in a deep voice. She bent her face towards Bear’s bleeding hand and stuck her black tongue out. I looked at it with horror, seeing its putrefying sores and necrotic tissue. She used the fetid, rotting thing to lick the blood from his palm and wrist. I saw Bear shudder and go pale as her tongue ran over his skin. Then she went to Stephanie, repeating the bizarre ritual. Stephanie didn’t show a scrap of emotion during it, however. Then finally, the Angel of Death came to me.
Her tongue felt cold and soggy against my bleeding skin. Small pieces of the decomposing flesh and larvae were left on my wrist and hand as she moved up and down, sucking the blood caressingly, almost like a lover. I repressed an urge to vomit. My stomach did flips. After what felt like an eternity, she pulled away, spinning around and putting her claw-like hands out to Bear.
“Your tribute,” she demanded. Reluctantly, he gave her the head. Her arms bent backwards in a way that no human arm should bend, twisting and popping with soft cracking sounds. She threw the decapitated head up to the eel creatures growing from her scalp. They cracked open the bony exoskeleton with a sound like a walnut shell breaking open. It revealed the spongy, pink flesh underneath. It seemed infused with some kind of green growth, almost like tendrils of mold that ate its way through its brain and muscles. The eels quickly stripped it clean, sticking their pointy snouts in and snapping up the meat with rabid hunger.
“Mmmmm,” the Angel of Death said in a resonant voice that made her sound almost human. It was as if she could taste the meat and blood that the eel creatures stripped from the decapitated head. Perhaps she could. A chill ran down my spine.
After they had finished stripping the meat from the offering, their gnashing and writhing calmed down. She turned her face back to us and I saw, to my horror, that the offerings of blood and meat had revitalized her skeletal face somewhat. It now had fresh growths of pink skin around her cheeks, mouth and eyes. I heard Bear and Stephanie gasp in unison as they saw her regenerating face.
“Your boon,” she demanded impatiently, the bones now almost covered with new growths of skin that spread out over the rotten flesh underneath. I looked at Bear. He instantly nodded. We were all on the same page without having to speak it aloud.
“We want to know the way out,” Bear said, stepping forward and speaking in a loud voice. “We want to return home.” The Angel of Death nodded as if expecting this, the eel-like creatures on her head drooping lazily as if they were tired after their meal.
“The only way out is farther in, through the center,” she said. “But the true king of the bottomless pit will not let you pass without a struggle. His name is Abaddon, and he is a demon of the worst kind. His kind has always been against mine- since beginningless time, we have fought. For the followers of Abaddon wish to bring about the Apocalypse. They wish to unleash God from the bottomless pit, so that he can destroy his creation before fading into oblivion. They believe that, when the universe topples, they will become gods themselves. I believe Abaddon is insane, however. I do not know who promised him godhood, unless he promised it to himself.”
“And we must not look at his face, right?” I said, smirking. The Angel of Death nodded.
“Mortals must not gaze upon the face of Abaddon. It will melt the flesh off your bones if you do. There are things in the dark that are not meant to be seen by human eyes.”
***
As the Angel of Death led us farther down into the pit, past more ancient towers and statues of angels with cruel, arrogant faces, I heard something far away. It sounded like people shouting and guns firing.
The Angel of Death floated above the ground in front of us, her backwards face always staring at us. It gave me the creeps. Her eyes never seemed to blink, and every time I looked up, I always found her staring right at me.
After a few minutes of traveling, she pointed to a dark side street with a long, skeletal finger. The stone road ran steeply down into darkness. It looked slick with moisture, and I saw a small subterranean stream flowing down the side of it. But as I looked closer, I realized the stream wasn’t water at all. The smell of copper and iron in the air was overwhelming as I knelt down, running a finger through it and pulling it up to see the red stain it left.
“Is this blood?” I asked, horrified. The Angel of Death did not answer me, but only continued to stare at me with her blank, dead eyes.
“The center is further down. Follow this road until the end. I wish you good luck, but I think I will see some of you again very soon. The last sands are flowing through your hourglass as we speak. So it is with mortals. Weak, pitiful things, they are. A mere breath of my power could destroy all three of you in an instant.” I couldn’t tell who she was looking at when she spoke these words, but they filled my heart with a sense of dread.
She drifted away slowly, almost lazily, hovering above the ground as she rose and fell in gentle waves, bobbing like a leaf in the wind. Within a few seconds, she had turned back down towards the dead city of Bloodstone, population zero.
***
We quickly realized the source of the shouting and gunshots when some agents dressed in gas masks and tactical black SWAT uniforms sprinted towards us. They all had automatic rifles as well as dark green M67 fragmentation grenades attached to their belts.
They froze when they saw us, but they didn’t raise their guns. Their leader walked forwards, hesitantly looking each of us up and down without speaking.
“Sir?” one of the soldiers finally asked in the back after a few very long seconds.
“Let them go,” he said, motioning his troops on. “Not my fucking problem.”
“Wait!” Stephanie cried as they started to run away without giving us a backwards glance. “Are you with Agent Garland?” Their leader froze at the name, turning to face her.
“Yeah, we met your guy in the city of Bloodstone,” Bear said, keeping his hand near his holstered pistol.
“Look, I don’t know who you guys are, but shit is going downhill fast,” the leader said, his voice distorted and eerie through the gas mask. “We’ve lost most of our company down there. We are trying to call for reinforcements. I don’t know who you are, but you don’t belong here. Going down there is suicide.”
“Why are you calling for reinforcements? What’s so important that you would want to sacrifice the lives of your men and risk having even more killed?” I asked. His body stiffened.
“We’re trying to stop the Apocalypse,” he said, turning away and motioning for his men to continue following him. Within a minute, they were gone from sight around a bend in the steep, narrow tunnel. More gunshots echoed up from below. Bear and I looked at each other, exchanging worried glances, but Stephanie seemed unfazed.
“We need to keep going down,” she urged. “It’s the only way out.”
“I wish we had more weapons,” I said regretfully, following her down into the darkness below.
***
After a few more minutes, the tunnel started to open up, the river of blood flowing into a swampy mess at the bottom. Strange, writhing vines twisted on its surface. Long, blood-red thorns spiraled around their thick stems.
A bridge made of bones led across the blood-red subterranean lake. I saw arm and leg bones stacked vertically, bound together with narrow strips of silver. Human skulls embedded in the bones formed a pattern, a symbol that seemed familiar. It looked like a backwards seven with a diagonal slashing line through it.
Across the bone bridge, I saw Agent Garland, his face sweaty and pale. He was surrounded by dozens of soldiers, some of them in gas masks and riot gear, others wearing plain black suits. All of them had automatic rifles, and most of them also had grenades and pistols as well.
“Agent Garland!” I cried. He jumped, spinning around and pointing his gun at me. When he saw my face, he lowered it.
“You goddamned idiots,” Agent Garland screamed. “You could have gotten yourselves shot! What are you even…” But his voice was cut off by a terrifying roar from behind him.
It sounded as if thousands of demonic voices shrieked together in a cacophony of alien tongues. It was a language of strange hisses, a language of hundreds of disparate voices screaming in low, slowed-down hisses.
“Another attack incoming!” a man in a black suit yelled, and the soldiers all turned away from us. Across the bridge, past the group of soldiers, I saw a tunnel that looked like a giant, hungry mouth with sharp stalactites and stalagmites sticking up and down like deformed, dripping teeth. An abyss of shadows cloaked the passageway, as dark as a midnight funeral. From the darkness, I saw silhouettes of creatures emerging that would have been at home in Dante’s Inferno.
There were more of the flying locust creatures we had encountered earlier, the ones with hairless child-like faces and dripping stingers. Their wings beat like helicopter blades, slicing through the air in a deafening cacophony. Their strange, white eyes seemed to change into expressions of pleasure and hunger as they drew nearer, their stingers dripping poison faster and faster as they got nearer to their prey. Dozens of them streamed forwards, grouped in packs of three and four flying in tight formation.
Behind these scorpion-like abominations, I saw something huge crawl out of the darkness, its skin the color of a black scab. The first thing I thought of when I saw it was of rat kings, when dozens or hundreds of rats get their tails intertwined and become, in effect, one body with countless skittering legs.
This was a conglomeration of many burnt, blackened bodies melded together with dozens of arms and dozens of legs sticking out of it. Multiple heads on top moaned in agony, their open, toothless mouths drooling blood and black fluid onto the burnt mass of skin below. Their lidless eyes had faded blue irises surrounded by bloody sclera. They constantly cried crimson tears.
These demonic conglomerations towered over the soldiers, each one fifteen or twenty feet tall. Their dozens of legs twisted in peristaltic waves, resembling the movement of some giant millipede. It propelled the entire mass forwards at a superhuman speed. I saw it scuttling towards us in a blur. And even though this happened years ago, I still see those abominations in my nightmares, and I regularly wake up screaming.
The agents opened fire. Bear pulled out his gun, and Stephanie and I took out our knives. My burned right arm shrieked in agony as I reached into my pocket.
I didn’t know it at the time, but that would be the last time the three of us would stand together in this life.
Part 4
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/19b1q7o/i_found_the_bottomless_pit_from_the_book_of/

Have been writing a little short story these past couple of days, thought I would share what I have so far. Let me know what you all think !
The metal around the personnel bay groaned like an angry bull from Old Terra. The vibrations that followed were enough to blur the vision and clatter teeth together, even for the post-humans inside. Despite the size of the craft, the wind-shear and pockets of turbulence threw the shuttle about like a child’s toy. The jump lights overhead activated, signifying to the crew that they had begun their final approach. Aruk watched as those red lights changed his helmet from the usual gun-metal gray of the XVIIth Legion into a deep arterial crimson. Aruk, a green Astartes not readily given to the superstitions of the older veterans still couldn’t help but see symbolism in that. “Bathed in blood” he quietly said to himself. Aruk lifted eyes the color of a cloudless Colchisian sky to meet the emerald green eyes of a machine. Their owner, the Chaplain Ez’kaar, tapped the side of his helm, signifying he had a message to give to the warriors before landing. Aruk raised his Mark III helmet above his head and brought it down, the pressurization of the void-seals hissing as he twisted it into place. He also couldn’t help but notice that the neutral stoicism the Mark III grille exuded had changed into a mask of shadowed malice under the red lights as he put it on. “Brothers. We know why we are here,” Ez’kaar began, “we know what it is that must be done. Many of you, myself included, feel conflicted with the Urizens demands. ‘It is wrong’ I hear you say, ‘wrong to inflict on others that which has been done unto us.’ Yet,” the Chaplain paused, stopping in the middle of the gangway that bisected the transport, twisting on his heels to look into the slits of every Bearers helm, “it is not Aurelian that asks this of us. We built wonders in the Emperors name. We spread unity, knowledge, and truth to worlds whose loyalties could not be reproached. All in the naïve hope that our faith in Him would be rewarded with a galaxy and a humanity that would finally know peace. Monarchia,” Ez’kaar paused again, this time to raise a closed fist to his grille as he cleared his throat in an attempt to choke back the sudden rise of emotion at the mention of the Perfect City, “Excuse me, Brothers. The wound festers, I fear” said the Chaplain, pulling a vial of dust from the leather pouch at his hip, the remnants of that wound trapped within. He stowed it away as he did the last vestiges of doubt. “Monarchia showed us His faith in that future, however. He showed us His truth. The Emperor decried us as failures. Hfft” he scoffed, “The Lion and the Red Angel, they burn entire systems to ash. Kurz and his…warriors, if that word even applies, they rape and pillage as they see fit. But who amongst His sons failed, hmm? Which of His flock became so lost He Himself had to light the path ablaze to show them where they strayed? All that we have built, all that we have brought into the fold, all that we have sacrificed!” the last word left Ez’kaars throat with equal parts venom and grief, “He looks upon our devotion and all He can do is bemoan its existence.” Ez’kaar paused for the last time as the lights turned green and the carrier touched down upon the surface of the world. “The Emperor has no use for hope, nor those who believe in it. Faith only clogs the gears of His war machines. If the Emperor wants killers,” the landing bay opened fully, revealing a crowd of citizens prostrate as they awaited The Lords commands, “then we will give Him killers.”
Esfanti watched the angels in grey descend from Heaven, the same way they had done in the days when his grandfather was still just a babe. He had grown up in the Church, and he believed in its works with all of his heart. He heard tales of the wider galaxy from passing traders making their way through the system, heard of the wars and the suffering still felt by those not yet touched by His light. Although he felt for those souls still benighted by pain and fear, he looked out at his people and felt hope swell in his heart. They were His chosen, His people. They were the word and the breath that gave it form. They were the foundation upon which His vision would be built. Esfanti looked again into the sky, the battering rain making it difficult to do so, but this was most likely the only chance he would ever see something like this and he was not going to let a storm keep him from witnessing the Bearers of His Word come down upon the flames of new revelation. Scripture from the Lecticio Divinitatus passed his mind as he watched; ‘In time even the most stalwart shall be tested; two men awake in the dark wilderness. The one forgets the truth of His creation. The other stands firm, knowing the sun shall come again bringing His illumination.” They touched down just before the small villages single Church, a humble structure, built to honor the workers in the fields, a monument to remind them that even as small as they were their efforts still mattered as it was all a part of His divine plan. As the huge craft descended the final circuit of the corkscrew it had been creating overhead, bleeding speed in order to drop down into such a comparatively small area given its size, the inhabitants, no, the blessed, thought Esfanti, fell to their bellies in prostration. Whatever it was that would be asked of them, Esfanti knew in his soul that every beating heart present would sacrifice life and limb in order to see it done. True obedience and faith required no less.
The ground shook as warriors of heaven disembarked from their chariot. The rain that beat down upon the surface of the hull flash boiled into steam due to the heat of its re-entry, wreathing it in a cloud of smoke that resembled a censer and its burning incense, the smokey wisps laden with devoted prayers. With his forehead in the mud, Esfanti couldn’t see the black armored angel as it came to stop just before him, but he could feel it, the same way it was described in the etchings found on the walls of the church’s inner sanctum. The deep and powerful thrum of His Word was overwhelming to Esfanti and his mortal frame, he could feel the air in his lungs vibrating as well as the liquid in his eyes, the blood in his heart, and the teeth in his gums. The sound was that of one million bees as they swarmed in defense of the hive, so loud was it that Esfanti wondered how any other noise existed besides it. The humble village priest stayed there, in the muck and mire of humanity and its sin, awaiting the commands of angels.
Ez’kaar cast his gaze upon a world founded and built in accordance with the Legions teachings. The buildings were utilitarian, uniform in color and construction, with art and ornamentation daubed sparingly to break the monotony as mortal man was want to do. Ez’kaar could find no fault in their architecture, they built humbly, conserving what little they had already. The people themselves, a stark difference in comparison to the shops and homes they lived in. Hues of orange, lemon yellow, ruby reds, regal purple, the green of spring, all of these and more, the colors of life itself and a reflection of the joyous souls that bore them. Thick of limb and corded in muscle the men were, and even some of the boys who were of an age that the Astartes sought after for their initiates. Well fed and and obviously pampered were the women, besides the mud of submission that they all bathed in, Ez’kaar could see that their dress was different, the men clothed in simple vests and trousers spun from wool and flax, the women garbed in dresses of silks and satin. Near triple the number of both of these two classes, however, were the children. Understanding as far as a babe could, a scant few mimicked their parents piety, but most ran about naked, joyously screaming and laughing as they splashed in the puddles. The oldest sat above them all on a raised dais, covered overhead by an awning to keep away the chill of the rain. Age was something Ez’kaar would never understand, yet the ravages he did recognize showed themselves fiercely only in the most wizened of that group. The village elders were members of the tribe respected and cared for, a position they earned through their own years of toil and family rearing. Ez’kaar could find no fault in their souls, they cared deeply for one another, acting as a unified family that shared what they had equally, a life of austere possession and bountiful joy. Fault was not his to uncover, however, much to his chagrin. Judgment was not theirs to pass, its weight deemed too heavy even for their shoulders. He and his brothers were the Bearers of His Word, nothing more, and nothing less. He decreed, and the mouth declared; God has spoken.
A voice broke the long silence, cracking through the din of the storm like a whip, the High Gothic thick with the accent of another world, the metallic and inhuman overlay of it making it nigh indecipherable. Had he not studied the language of the church Esfanti would have stayed in the mud, none the wiser to an angels speech. “Arise” Esfanti got up out of the grime, the rain washing it away in rivulets down his sharp and taught face. A few of the elders and even fewer of the women rose with him, the ones that had the mind, patience, and time to learn the basics of faiths tongue. Esfanti turned away from the imposing figure before him and called out in the vernacular to his flock, “Welcome His angels! Show them our good works!”
Ez’kaar watched the data stream across his visor, the language unknown to him yet to his luck catalogued by legion data-serfs during their first and last sojourn upon this world. The passive translator in his helm calibrated to the structural syntax and vocabulary for this dialect of Old Lower Gothic, an ancient relative of an ancient relative to the de facto Low Gothic spoken amongst the mortal soldiery in the Imperial Army. As a Chaplain of the XVIIth, his way was that of the pen, his brothers the sword. They didn’t have the technological capacity to transcribe his next words, even if they did most wouldn’t due to the sole fact that they didn’t care. They existed as an end, not its means.
The towering harbinger continued its message, now in the tongue of the masses, “Arise, faithful sons and daughters of the Emperor, Arise. Stand tall, stand with pride, stand before His angels, unbowed by that which we have asked of you. Look about yourselves now; to the left, and to the right,” black armored arms raised, palms to the sky, “look now and tell me what you see?” The Bearer paused, not for an answer as his tone was clearly rhetorical, instead stopping to let the question burrow into the mind. Esfanti had learned the craft of preaching in seminary, yet he was but a student standing before the author, he thought. “I will tell you what I see. I will tell you what I saw. When I last walked these hallowed fields they were not the fertile and verdant plots you see now, no. As some among you can give witness to,” the angel turned to his left, changing its view from the fields to the elderly, giving an exaggerated but respectful bow to them, before continuing, “may their days be short and their nights long; crops many and creatures many more” the people softly laughed at the unexpected blessing, a local wish for good fortune spoken into cups and mugs, as their moods lightened several degrees. Even Esfanti broke his usual mask to cover a smile with his hand, “life has not always been like this. When last I saw this horizon all there was to find across its breadth were mewling packs of wild savages, creatures claiming to be man yet living as beasts. They roamed the plains, swamps, and bogs you now live upon, staking claim over ever shifting borders, fighting over land that was more human than they. Endless war. Blood feuds begat blood feuds. Honor killings demanded honor answer with more killings. On and on and on it went, ad nauseam, son killing father, father killing brother, and all in between fleeing to new lands, so they, too, could kill. What I saw was a world that had no future; what I see before me is a people that have proved me wrong.” The warrior brought his hands to his chest, not quite the Aquilla, more so a cupping of the heart, as it bowed its head in deference to honor the works done in His name. “You are loyal, industrious, truthful, and above all else faithful.” Esfanti could hear a tinge of reluctant determination underneath the praising tone, and his heart quickened as confusion and adrenaline began coursing through him as he tried to scry the meaning of it. “We, however, come bearing gifts of ash in place of adoration. We come to you now not to lift up, but to tear down.” The crowd behind Esfanti all at once began to move about as if they had turned into the crops they grew, blowing in the wind. The priest himself found his feet unsteady, a sudden spell of vertigo crashing against him as he looked up into the featureless mask of His deliverance. “Your faith in Him, as is ours, is misplaced as it is misguided. The Emperor, in his divine wisdom, has no need for faithful servants.” A single black arm raised to heaven, and Esfanti saw behind the body it was attached to more movement. What looked like massive steel slabs in the arms of the angels rose in synchronization with that of the black hand. As he stood leaning to his side around the black warrior peering at a wall of gray, he realized then that the preacher stood before him was now casting its gaze at him, green slits burrowing into his soul. Esfanti looked up into them, dumbstruck by the the intent of the eyes he could see behind those emeralds. “My…my Lord?” The words left the humble priests lips as little more than a whisper, his face quivering as he realized now just how cold he was, the sensation washed over his body as if warmth had never existed. “What He needs is slaves.” The knife that was its gauntleted appendage descended, slicing everything that Esfanti knew in half with one fell swoop. Thunder rang out across the plains, echoing off of the village walls and the hills in the distance. It was the thunderous fury of the storm in heaven mixed with the thunderous indignation of hearts cast down from its halls. Esfanti tried to turn but found he was frozen in place, not by fear or indecision born from it, but by the meter long blade that had cut through his abdomen and separated his one spine into two. Esfanti, devout priest, loving husband and father, loyal servant of the Emperor, died before his body hit the ground.
A girl stalks between shadows, hiding from daemons come to punish them for their sins. She prays to her God for deliverance. He does not answer. In the silence the sounds that have haunted her now for days fills the void. The dull thud of metal, so loud it squeezed the breath out her as she gasped for life. Rotten tomatoes falling from the vine, exploding with a wet plop on the ground. The bones of her neighbors, shattered into millions of pieces whistling through the air and scraping against the street underneath like pebbles as she ran over them. The screams of pigs sent to slaughter, the deep howl of an animal that knows it is going to die yet cannot come to terms with that fact. The memories flood her vision once again. It had been raining for days now, its intensity washing away all of the gore with it, yet the girl still frantically scrubbed away blood that only she could see. She sobs uncontrollably, bent over from the pain of loss and its cloying grief.
Aruk stares down at the girl. She is young. Around the age of his mother the last time he had seen her under the desert sun all those years ago. She had looked beautiful, even through her tears as she said her final goodbyes. He looked up at the stars, knowing that home was one of them. The rain was her tears now. She cried not for the boy she had lost, but for the man he will become. Aruk had been filled with so much rage these past few months. A rage he had extolled upon these people; their open arms rewarded with furious and undeserved recompense. Now that rage had passed, its righteous heat burning itself out, leaving a pit of nothing in its wake. Aruk stood there underneath the tears of his mother’s remorse and for the first time in his life he felt empty. He reached down and grabbed the young woman by the rag covering her back and lifted her up. She had the same blue eyes as his mother, the same black hair too. Her face, however, was not his mother’s. It was twisted with a cold fury that chilled even his soul. The woman lashed out at him, striking at the ceramite of his helm with her bare fists, her nails peeling off fingers that broke soon after before they too came flying off of hands that had turned to little more than dust held together by skin. She did not let up. The sound of her grieved rage beat on Aruks ears drums despite his helms audio dampeners. Just hours ago he had felt that same rage, and he pitied her for it now, knowing the gaping maw of absolute worthlessness that awaited her should he allow her to live. He let go, and the poor things legs snapped like twigs as they came down hard on the uneven stone of the alleyway.
The sound of her bones bursting ricocheted off the walls with a sharp crack. Where before her scream had been one of primal anger, it now was one of pain she had only just begun to understand these past few days. Her eyes were clenched from the disappointing finality of her death, she didn’t see but she heard the metallic whine of the deamons flesh as he raised his leg above her. The last sensation she felt before the end was her brain filling in the cracks between the stones she called home.
Brother-Chaplain Ez’kaar watched the fat transport ships ascend into the gray clouds, slowed by the weight of the world’s survivors. A scant few were shot down, balls of flame and flesh falling like stars. Poetic considering how he and his brothers had come to this world just a few days ago. He grinned at the thought while some of his more indulgent brothers laughed outright at the punchline to the Emperors cosmic joke. Most would be allowed through, however. “A message needs a mouth to speak it” were the words of the First Chaplain as he was explaining the Legions new mission to the priesthood. That message was a simple one: the Iconoclasts of old had been reforged in the fires of Monarchia; they come bearing a new word. “What if the Emperor hears of this? His ire is already upon us, First Chaplain.” Ez’kaar had asked, genuinely perplexed at how murdering civilians was going to restore their honor in the eyes of their cousins and the Imperium. “Fear not, brother-chaplain. If they manage to strike an audience with the Emperor, their hope will turn to despair. He will hear a tale of heathen pagan-worshippers being cut down by loyal sons spreading the Imperial Truth. Before the messengers are arrested or killed outright, they will hear Him thank us for our service.” Now that, thought Ez’kaar, that was divine comedy.

Outer Wilds is a game best enjoyed without spoiling anything for yourself. The game relies on mental checkpoints, so once you know about something, there is no way of reliving the magic of finding it out via simply playing the game.
This piece of literature includes spoilers for the WHOLE main game (Outer Wilds) AND DLC (Echoes of the Eye). I am going to mention critical story points and I am going to touch on how to solve endgame puzzles.
If you are interested in space, please check out Outer Wilds. If you like puzzle games, please check out Outer Wilds. If you are interested in a more unconventional game, please check out Outer Wilds. I will not force you to, but I can only recommend playing Outer Wilds.
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Here is a link to the full thing on tumblr as well, it probably is a better reading experience as there are no spoiler flairs there: https://www.tumblr.com/meowteorite/748552135581499392/the-lantern-outer-wilds?source=share
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Night has fallen. The familiar sounds of silence are filling the dark room that is lit only by candlelight and the dim blue light coming from the tiny window. How long have I been imprisoned here? Left alone in this room, unwilling – or unable? – to die. My body may have rotten, may have crumbled to dust. I do not know. My soul is caged only by the blue fire emitted by the lantern I have been holding onto for years. I cannot unlearn how to talk, though it has been a good while since I did. I should have lost my mind, but the sheer force of not wanting to has kept me sane. I have not heard a sound from beyond these walls in so long. Is anybody even still out there? Am I the only one left? I will not blow out my lantern. The sun rises again.
Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen.
I have witnessed so many sunsets and sunrises within these walls, thousands of years must have gone by. But what if it is a trick by the others? I am trapped in this simulation that they have created. What tells me they have not modified it to make time seem endlessly long? For the real world outside this box, it might have been only a few hours. It would fit them. It would fit them to be trapped alongside me, though not by force but their own will. It would fit them to misalign how fast time in here progresses, compared to the real world. They had always feared the end. Death. The great unknown. A few thousand sunrises and sunsets ago, I would have called them cowards. But I am trapping myself in the simulation – just as much as they are. I will not blow out my lantern. The sun rises again.
Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen.
I could blow out my lantern at any time, disconnecting me from this room that keeps me prisoner. I could die. My body could already be rotten, crumbled up to dust. If I blew out my lantern I could disconnect my mind, finally free. But if my theory, however wrong it may actually be, is true and only a few days have passed since my imprisonment, I could still be alive. Before the simulation caught me, I felt the air thickening, felt my stomach aching from not having eaten in days. My feet were giving in, only for me to discover that the wooden box forced me to stand. But what kind of life would I even have left? Trapped inside a wooden box, my own grave, my own sarcophagus, starving or suffocating to death. In this simulation I cannot feel the pain inflicted upon my real body. Maybe staying – however boring it may be – is more welcome than pain and suffering. I will not blow out my lantern. The sun rises again.
Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen.
My prison houses a telescope, to look at an image of the planet we had left behind. They were so keen on following their new hope, they had rendered our home a barren wasteland. Then they felt betrayed by their new hope, and so they constructed an image of our home planet in our fake simulated world. I do no longer care to look at it, I have seen every inch at least a thousand times. I am saddened by how we treated our home, though I am happy we were curious enough to leave it. Even though I only see the same walls each and every passing day now, I am happy that I was able to see something more before that. I will not blow out my lantern. The sun rises again.
Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen.
I am staring at the same walls again. My nails do not grow, my feathers are not falling out. My antler is not growing back. My eyes are adjusting to the light and the darkness as they always have. Even if I had always hated the simulated world, found it to be a cowardly way of escaping reality, I wanted to look outside. The window is too high up for me, I can only look at the sky. The sky with the big blue planet, the sky with the simulated sun. I have tried staring into the sun, but while it would hurt my eyes in the real world, here it does not do anything. Everything stays the same. I will not blow out my lantern. The sun rises again.
Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen.
My two rooms have started to feel smaller. I have tried carving into these wooden planks, they seem indestructible. No scratches, no marks. The lift is working as usual, I can go wherever I want. As long as “wherever” is within these walls. This simulated body does not need to eat. It does not need – and it cannot – sleep. I cannot pass the time. Looking through the window and into the sky has long become utterly worthless to me. There is nothing else to do within these walls, aside from thinking. I might blow out my lantern? The sun rises again.
Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen.
The planet in the night sky has began taunting me. The blue light coming from it fills my room each night. I cannot escape it. It is the same shade of blue as the fire of my lantern. I have picked up my chair, I have smashed it into the wall. There is no damage to be found. Not a scratch, not a mark. I might blow out my lantern. The sun rises again.
Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen.
Can this simulated body feel pain when it becomes too much? I am sticking one of my fingers into my lantern, holding it directly into the fire. My vision becomes blurry, though my finger does not ache. I pull it back. I will blow out my lantern. The sun rises again.
Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen. The sun rises again. Night has fallen? The sun rises again? Night has fallen? The sun rises again?
Night has fallen. Is it possible to hallucinate within this world? I could have sworn I had heard a sound coming from outside the walls. I tried looking through the window, but the planet is still here and there’s nothing else to see. I wanted to scream, but fear had taken over me. Who else but my former peers could be out there? There is no way to reach this island from within the simulation. Maybe my theory of how time progresses within the simulation is correct. Have they come to free me from my prison? Maybe they think I had been broken enough? But it would be so unlike them to welcome a “traitor” amidst them. They surely have not considered being in the wrong, I cannot believe. I will not blow out my lantern.
There are steps outside, I am so very sure of it. I heard something move on … water? It must be. There is something moving, someone is aligning the platforms for the bridge. Have they come to free me? My ears start ringing as I hear the sound of bells, but the footsteps continue on. I hear someone rotating a wheel. I must be hallucinating, it cannot be. I hear someone approaching through the tunnel. Suddenly, I am scared. I shift back into the darkness, the darkest spot of these walls. I sit down on my chair. I am going to wait. I will not make a sound. My life may be over soon. I can hear footsteps in the room above me, going in circles. I will not blow out my lantern.
Someone is stepping inside of the lift, it is moving downward. I am sitting in silence, I am not moving. The door opens, someone enters. They are small. They are turning around. I hope they will not leave, even if I am scared. They are looking left and right, checking the walls. They are searching for something, but what is there to be found here aside from me? They are staring in my direction, their face is … Their face is blue. And they have four eyes. And they are smaller than me. No need to fear them, probably. They are taking tiny steps toward me, eager. Lantern in hand. I will not blow out my lantern.
They are within reach, but they are not doing anything. They are looking, staring into the darkness. They are taking a step toward me. I do not want to scare them, but I most likely will once they bump into me. I will not blow out my lantern. I will not stand up. I might stand up? I will stand up. I stand up. I reach out my hand, my body had become a bit stiff from sitting. Fear overcomes their face, they run to the other side of the room. I scared them, even if it was not my intention. I will not blow out their lantern.
I stand there, staring at them. What is their intention? They are staring at me, regaining their composure. They are approaching me, they open their mouth. There are words coming out, but none that I know. I cannot recall a species looking like that. Maybe they have come from far away? Maybe they are also in search for the Eye? This is what I have waited for all this time. Someone to share my knowledge with, yet I lack the words. I must think of a way that enables me to talk to them. I must ask them how they were able to visit me, how they were able to unlock my seals. I remember my vision torch, I am stepping aside to grab it. They take a step back. I will not blow out their lantern.
I am holding the vision torch to their head, communicating to them what my species did. How we left out home planet in search for the Eye, how we left it a wasteland. How we built this space station to last for an eternity so that we could stay with the Eye forever, no matter what it looked like. What the Eye told us, how it told us that the end of the universe is near. How betrayed the others felt upon seeing this and how they tried to lock the Eye away. How I managed to break the seal, freeing the Eye for a mere moment. How they locked me away, both in the real world and the simulation. Finally, I could talk to someone. All this time, this time where I had felt so alone and stripped of purpose – there was a purpose. And I was not alone. I want to think of them as a friend in need. I will not blow out my lantern.
I am done with sharing my experiences. The look on their face is one of understanding, the look of someone that has found the final piece to their puzzle. They seem eager to share something with me, I am so very glad. I want to know their story, their origin. I hand them my vision torch. I will not blow out my lantern.
They show me my own species. My own planet. The plants are dying, the houses are still standing but in the worst condition they have ever been. Time has passed, my theory was wrong. My body is dead, so are the bodies of all my former friends. My former family. The thought saddens me a little, but I cannot help but feel a little bit more at peace. They tell me how the Eye sent out a signal to a faraway place. The inhabitants of this place built a spaceship, teleporting away from their home in order to find the Eye. I can relate to them. By shutting the blocking system for the eye off, I helped them receive a signal of the Eye. I am happy to have helped another species find out about this mysterious thing. The next vision. I am glad I did not blow out my lantern.
Their ship got stuck within a vine-like structure, but they managed to send out some little shuttles. I hope they all managed to safely escape their shuttle. I hope they are all well. They built houses on different planets. A blue light approaches them, they all fall to the ground. They are dead. Their skeletons remain, their houses crumble. An astronaut found these houses, they brought a wall with some sort of violet text to a house. A museum? There are other blue people. I see the person before me, they look even smaller. The one that had transported the wall must be some sort of other blue person. The one before me is looking at the wall, they are growing older. They are in their own spaceship, putting on some sort of suit, flying off into the deep vastness of space. I am so very glad I did not blow out my lantern.
Hearing this person’s story makes me happy. I did not think my prison would allow me to talk to someone else again, but I did. My species is long gone, everybody has long withered away. The natural course of life, the end. Their minds may still wander this simulation, for now. Seeing what had happened to our space shuttle makes me realize that nothing is forever, their life is going to end at some point as well. But I remember the three seals of my prison, and I remember what sacrifice had to be made in order to break one of them. I am saddened that by visiting me, the creature before me had given all they had left away. I hope they will not rely on the simulation. It would be their prison, as it was mine. I am saddened but hope that they will blow out their lantern.
For now, I wish to see the surface again. I stretch out my hand, I wish to hold my vision torch. My newfound friend hands it to me. I step on the lift, eager to leave the prison behind. I want to go before them. I bow to them, my deepest and most heartfelt thanks. There is nothing I would have loved more for the last few minutes of my life. I step on the elevator. I go outside, the sand beneath my feet. I see the raft. I would have loved to sail into the sunset with my friend, but I cannot. I cannot stand this world any longer, and I am at peace. A last vision for them, to show how glad I was to have met them. We push the raft forward, we sit in it. We float toward the ever-growing sun. We are together, nobody needs to be alone anymore. I push the vision torch into the sand, making sure that they will see it. I am glad I did not blow out my lantern.
I take a few steps, I approach the dark water. The sun begins to rise again, but I am not here to see another day. My knees are touched by the cold water, my lower body is submerged. I cannot swim in this simulation, I do not feel the need to try. I walk further. One last look at the planet I had watched from my prison all these years. I am glad I did not blow out my lantern, so that the water could do it for me.
Thank you to those that have read the whole thing. I appreciate it. I am not a professional writer, to be completely honest I cannot even remember what the last serious thing I have written was. Or when that happened. Thank you anyways.